


Don't You Quit On Me...

by J3 (CaseMatthews)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alpha Sam Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beta Castiel, Beta Wanted, Big Brother Sam Winchester, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Multi, Omega Dean Winchester, Pack Dynamics, Pet Names, Protective Older Brothers, Protective Sam Winchester, Underage Sex, Werewolf Castiel, Werewolf Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-04 04:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 16
Words: 91,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1765627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaseMatthews/pseuds/J3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While less than five percent of the world's population is made up of Omegas, most people regard them as precious; to be protected and cared for at all cost. But not Alastair. And if anyone knows that, it's Dean.</p><p>Dean was taken from them when he was just four years old and Sam's been looking for him for the last twelve years - building a pack, finding a mate to make his Beta. Sam knows what taking on an Omega means and he knows perfectly well that Dean's his brother...but what can he do? He needs Dean by his side and if this is the only way, so be it. But Dean's head's all messed up, he doesn't remember his old life, he doesn't remember Sam...should Sam tell him? Should Dean know, after everything he's been forced to live through, that his own Alpha is his own big brother?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Praise Our Saviour

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song: Brothers by Penny and Sparrow
> 
> For the lore in this fic, check out http://archiveofourown.org/works/2486036 for the lore.  
> For a cliff-notes version: Alphas are the rulers of both their packs and the rest of the world - Omega's are rare and have a need to mate with them. Gammas make up the rest of the population and become Beta's to the Alpha if they mate to one. Before children mature, they're called pups.
> 
> If any of this is confusing, please let me know, otherwise, enjoy!!
> 
> WARNING! I am a sadistic, awful person...continue...
> 
> Fanart!!!! by Ccalamity4 on deviantart :) I love her.

It’s the pain that finally hauls Dean into consciousness.

Like…like daggers, carving into his skeleton and ripping the damn flesh straight from his bones. And that relentless pounding inside his head that seems to have eased some in the last fortnight or so must have taken out a personal agenda against him, ‘cause it’s sure as hell coming back full damn force. So harshly, in fact, that when he flickers tired eyes open the kitchen around him is little more than a silvery, spotlessly clean blur.

And fuck, his ribs hurt. As in, they freaking _kill_. And at least a fair couple must be broken, maybe more if the bare notion didn’t make Dean’s stomach roil. Christ they’re so frigging annoying and painful as all hell to heal. Typical.

Master’ll be mad, there’s no doubt about that. He hates when Dean’s like this, useless and pathetic—but God, Dean hates it too; he hates disappointing Master and he hates his natural self-protection instincts kicking in when all it means is more pain. He’s not allowed instincts, Master told him so, but whenever Dean’s pain gets this bad, he can’t help it. His body just betrays him and when he curls up like a puppy from Master’s hands and Master’s toys, the thunderous humiliation just makes it worse. But it hurts and somehow when he shrivels into a useless little ball, it makes it hurt less. It shouldn’t, but it does. Christ, it _always_ does.

According to the glow from the small skylight above him, illuminating the crisp grey floor into a soft, orange flush it’s morning outside. Dean blinks his eyes against the intrusion and pulls himself up with soft little pants (not loud enough to be heard, of course) to prop his broken body up against a cabinet’s door. He pauses and waits patiently for his body to get used to the movement before attempting anything more. Well, it still hurts. At least this way he won’t be caught off guard when someone comes to call on him.

He hopes Master’s in a good mood. Yesterday he was...okay, so yesterday morning he was. Dean had lounged over his lap for the first few hours of the day, nuzzled into his alpha’s warmth and scent like his inner wolf always begs him to. Master even let him have some leftover yogurt from his breakfast tray, so that was nice. And, like it always is, Dean had to be the one to ruin it. Honestly he hadn’t meant it—he never does—but he should know better after all these years than to be so ignorantly obtuse. Four stupid, pathetic, ignorant little words ruined the result of a very promising day and Dean will be feeling them for weeks to come: _“Can I go outside?”_ He’d been across the floor in a savage little heap in less than two seconds flat.

Master hadn't been happy; Dean could tell by the vicious little jabs of his fists into Dean’s ribs, the cuts marring Dean’s cheek and Dean’s thighs and Dean’s stomach, the burns ripping along his back. Frankly, it’s a miracle he managed to sleep at all last night, though then again, he probably just passed out from the pain. Maybe if he’s good, Master might let him sit on his lap again. Maybe if he’s _really_ good, Master might rub that sticky stuff onto his burns like last week when Dean dropped his coffee cup. It’s to stop infection and Master’s hands are harsh, but at least that way they’re close.

The door swings open and Ruby shoves her head through with a ready sneer, “Alastair's waiting for you in the front sitting room.” She turns quickly with a disgusted set to her nose and scoffs out, “Fuck knows why,” before making her flourished leave.

“Ruby…” Dean tries, because he honestly doesn’t think he can get up and she helped him last time, balanced him to Master’s bedroom during his heat, but she’s already gone, the two-way door swinging happily behind her. Crap.

So Dean just grits his teeth like a good little omega and crawls over onto his bashed up knees, bracing himself flat on his fists. Deep breath in, deep breath out—turns round, grapples at the countertop until he can balance decently onto his haunches and hauls himself up, up, up until he’s half standing, half panting but relatively steady on his own two feet. Good enough, he thinks, and when he straightens up little by little until he’s sucking in one heady breath after another, lets go of the wall standing steady, he allows himself a minuscule sigh of achievement. Now comes the tricky part.

He’s already late, he knows that. The house is big and Dean’s not exactly quick on his feet very often these days, though he moves as fast as his body will physically let him. It’s not very fast. Master will be mad.

Ten minutes. That’s how long it takes him to trail all the way from his ex-kitchen bedroom to Alastair’s morning suite on the other side of the house and that is nine minutes too many. Although actually, it’s kinda quick considering some of his earlier crawling missions.

Every single step is like a giant hot poker stabbing him straight through the middle and igniting what’s left of his uninjured flesh, like some wolf pawing at his ribs with their claws out, snagging along every broken bone. He’s sure they’re broken. One at least, probably the whole lot of the rest just bruised, but freaking badly. Ribs are a total bitch to heal…

It’s only when Dean knocks politely at the door with discoloured knuckles that he smells the second alpha. _Fuck_. So not only is he monumentally late, he’s also just embarrassed Master in front of his visitor’s. Dean should probably saver this pain; it can only get worse here on out.

“Come in,” Master calls, and Dean twists the doorknob with an aggravated hiss before straightening both his features and posture and stepping lightly into the room, his eyes boring obediently into the scarlet carpet.

“This is him?” a stranger’s voice says, the second alpha. He has a nice voice, warm and soft, but that’s only because he’s an alpha and Dean’s craving _alpha_ right now, he needs it, more than the air he breaths. He needs his Master.

Master clicks his fingers and Dean knows what to do. His eyes lift slightly, just to get a feel for where everyone's positioned—three people, and when Dean sniffs the air as subtly as he can, he scents a beta, though not one he recognises—and he spots his Master sat in his old leather armchair, opposite the intruders on the couch. He shuffles over as delicately as he can.

“He looks unwell,” Beta says and Dean flinches. Well, that’s gonna be another tally on Dean’s pain chart, isn’t it?

Master clucks deep in his throat at the same second Dean lowers slowly down to his side, landing with a silent huff on his knees. He snuffles his nose into Masters bent knee because he’s an idiot and the Alpha scent smells so good. He’ll be punished for that too, he’s sure, but Dean needs the comfort and there’s not much more the Alpha can do that he hasn’t already.

“He’s alive,” Master hums out, unfolding his knees until Dean’s cheek is uplifted and the Omega has to just shuffle in further to accommodate the shift in movement. At least he hasn’t kicked Dean off yet, so that’s a bonus. Dean inhales while he still can.

“Yes…” the Beta says tentatively, quietly, and Master lets out an incredulous chuckle.

“Oh, calm down, for God's sake. He's an omega. They’re whores, little one. They need to be treated like such or they’ll just grow unruly and we can’t have that, not these days. Dean here’s just a little temperamental. He needs reminding of his place more often than the others I've...acquired.” And Dean’s sorry about that, he really is. He knows Master likes him but he knows he’s a huge disappointment to Master when he has to be ‘reminded’ of his place and punished because sometimes it hurts Master too. So Dean lifts one trembling, apologetic hand to paw at Masters shin to show his sorrow, whining low in his throat and letting himself tremble with a wet keen—he doesn’t mean to be so stupid, he just forgets. Master laughs and scratches a hand through Dean’s hair; Dean has to stop himself from all out keening and leaping onto Master’s lap. The touch is perfect all by itself, though, so he manages.

“See?” Master prompts. “I implore you to find another Omega in this state as compliant as my little Dean, here.” Dean prims under the praise. The hand tightens, “Even if he was late.” _Damn_.

“I don’t think he meant to be, it must be hard for him to move quickly in his current state…”

“You’re a _Zeta_ , are you not?” Master interrupts, his hand stilling altogether in Dean’s hair. Dean nearly growls, deciding he’s definitely not a big fan of this mouthy Beta.

Heat of embarrassment fills the air, for once not from Dean. The Beta coughs, “I am, yes.”

“Well then, maybe you should stop talking so much and start listening to your Alpha, little one. Or maybe your Alpha should start reigning in control of his pack…”

The other Alpha voice chuckles lightly and shuffling sounds from the opposite sofa. “Now, Alastair, you know that’s not how we do things. Castiel’s just a little spirited, is all. Perfect for me. How about we move on to discussing business now, hmm?” Very nice voice indeed.

“Quite,” Master hums, resuming his movements. Dean can feel the slight smile shift onto his face. “As you can see, Dean’s a very good little boy,” if Dean had feathers, they’d be ruffling, “and I can assure you he will not come cheap.” Dean stills. _Cheap?_ Cheap for what? Master’s never pawned him off before, he’s never made Dean bend over for a stranger…this is a new punishment, isn’t it? Dean’s being punished for everything and this is so much worse than the beatings and the burning, so much more painful, being rejected, his Alpha not wanting him… _fuck_. “Are you sure you can afford him, Alpha?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, Alastair, we’ve been saving up,” he says, his soft voice taking on a mocking quality, sarcastic. Dean's betraying mind decides that he likes this one, too. “How much are we talking?”

“Fifty thousand.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Alastair, look at the state of him. You wouldn’t buy a professionally trained omega for that price, it’s thieving…”

“Like I said, a high price. That’s the only deal on the table here, boys, take it or leave it.” Master feels soft and Dean doesn’t want to leave, he doesn’t want to be sold for _any_ price…

“Thirty thousand.” _No thousand._

“Forty-nine.” _Nonononononono_.

“Forty.” Dean crawls a look up at his Master.

“Forty-five, and I will go down no further. He is worth double that—if you want him so badly then that will have to do.”

There’s silence for a few seconds, Dean peering up with wide eyes at Master’s stony face, emotionless and cold and… “Deal.” _No_. No, he won’t go, he will not leave Master, he _can’t_ leave his Alpha, his body won’t like it, his body will hurt and ache and –

But Master’s standing up and pushing Dean out of the way, walking sternly forward and shaking the other Alpha's hand, shaking on Dean’s destiny. Dean shoves himself to his feet as quickly as he can, ignoring the thud of raw pain, disregarding his sloppiness, just needing to get to his Alpha before this is all real and Dean really has to leave...

“ _Master_ ,” he hisses, his throat raw. He steps up next to him, scrapping like a pup at his pale shirt and snuffles his nose into the fabric there—maybe he can convince Master he’s worth it—maybe he really pissed Master off and now he doesn’t even want a dirty, pitiful little omega around to ruin everything anymore. But Dean _can_ be better, “ _Please_ , Alpha, please don’t make me leave, I-”

The hand connecting with Dean’s cheek is a surprise and he goes down like a lead balloon, his whole body jarring painfully until he can’t help the sob and hiss of pain, can’t help crying out when the leather sole of Master's shoe rests stubbornly at his throat. His eyes don’t focus no matter how much he wants them to, Master’s face is just a blur miles above him and his weight is monstrous against Dean’s breathing. At least he doesn’t hurt so much anymore…

“You get the fuck off of him—”

“You pathetic little _fuck_. Have I not taught you anything, Omega-scum, have you not listened to a word I’ve ever said? You mean _nothing_ to me, you understand? _Nothing_.”

The rejection…it’s physical. Dean didn’t know before, he didn’t know it would hurt so much but this pain…it overtakes any bodily infliction he’s ever undergone, it shoves that out the window and buries itself deep inside his chest. It hurts. It hurts a lot. And he’s crying because of it and that never happens.

When the foot leaves his throat, Dean doesn’t even notice. His alpha doesn’t want him, nothing else matters.

“That was _spiteful_ ,” the second Alpha hisses above Dean’s head. It doesn’t matter and Dean just turns onto his side and sobs into his arms—or he would if only they'd lift that far, “Why would you purposely harm him like that?”

Master laughs… _Master_. _Not Master though, is it, Dean, Master doesn’t want you, Master doesn’t care—_ a sob racks Dean’s whole body and he can’t breathe.

“He’s leaving the pack, the rejection had to happen sooner or later, didn’t it?”

“It didn’t have to be like this. You’re a barbaric piece of shit, you know that?” _Don’t talk like that to Master…_

Another laugh, a foot nudging at Dean’s head. “No, _Winchester_ ,” he spits the name, “I’m an alpha. What the hell are you?”

“Don’t you _fucking_ touch him,” Alpha snarls, the foot moves off. “He’s _mine_ now, you have not fucking right to touch him!”

Dean curls up closer to a nearby heat at the yelling. Everything hurts so bad—a hand, soft and yielding, makes contact with his forehead, brushes away the overgrown strands, a breath blows onto his flushing skin. Dean shuffles in closer and long fingers take a strong hold of his own. More yelling, more shouting, the sound of something smashing and Dean keens and whines at the back of his throat, moves away from the noise and into the heat. Beta. _The_  Beta, the one disrespecting Master… another sob racks through painfully, juddering Dean’s bruises.

A soft, cool breath is blown onto Dean’s skin, followed swiftly by even softer lips, cool and damp and comforting, “Hello there, little pup. Hush, little one, you’re okay, Dean, you’re okay.” Dean whimpers gently and bows into the needed touch. It’s not Alpha but it’s similar, nowhere near as perfect as Master, but it’s still warmth and it’s good, better than nothing.

“ _Hurts_ ,” Dean gulps, hoping, maybe praying that this Beta might help him, might take the pain away if he’s good enough, if he follows the rules. Another crash, Dean moans. “ _Please_ ,” he tries, gripping as tightly as he can to the offered hand, “Please stop… _hurting_.”

“Shh, Omega, everything’s fine, it’ll all be over soon, I promise you, little one, you’ll be okay soon, hush now,” the hand stills and the silence that follows is deafening. Dean coils closer.

“Get…get out of my house!” Master’s voice, Master’s voice cold and weak, bitter. It _hurts_.

“My fucking pleasure,” Alpha two says, another bang and then there’re hands moving along Dean, more hands, huge hands, strong hands, stroking Dean’s sides softly and curving up underneath his body, “Shh, Dean, it’s okay, sweetheart, everything’s okay, little one, come on now...”

Dean curls off the Alpha scent because…it feels _wrong_ , somehow, and despite all of this agony it’s not the one he needs it’s not Master but it is Alpha and…fuck, Dean doesn’t even know. It could be his own mother’s hands on him and he’d still pull away for his real pack leader.

“I’m picking you up now, Omega, okay?” and he is because Dean’s being lifted, the solid weight beneath him moving and adding more pressure onto other points, _painful_ points and Dean whines out from the _hurt_. But he’s lifted to a nice, warm, tanned neck and his body snuffles its nose straight in there, inhaling the purely alpha scent and just acknowledging it for what it really is, for the alpha and not the stranger and dammit it's better than nothing. It’s _good_ and Dean lets himself drop into the arms gripping him; one between his shoulder blades, the other supporting beneath his backside, he feels safe and secure but he doesn’t know why. This isn’t home…this isn’t _Master_.

His eyes slide closed of their own accord.

=*=Ω=*=

“You did well, angel,” Sam praises, dipping his nose down into his mates perfectly tousled, raven-hued hair. Cas preens beneath it and ducks his head to Sam’s neck, opposite the Omega currently breathing warmth onto Sam’s sensitive skin, his breath heavy in slumber and soft and perfect. Sam missed this more than he can _ever_ …it’s impossible to express, honestly. But Dean’s back and he’s alive and he’s home and Sam isn’t quite sure he knows what to do with that knowledge yet. But it’s certainly good to have it.

“Are you pleased, Alpha?” Castiel mumbles, nuzzling in deeper.

Sam smiles. “I’m very pleased. I’m _very_ ,” he barks out a disbelieving laugh, “fucking pleased. Twelve years searching, angel, and we found him. And he’s alive...” He ducks down and presses a heavy kiss to his mate’s perfect lips, earning a happy laugh. When they split off, Sam frowns and looks down at the thing in his arms. “He’s alive. But he’s not living.”

“He will be with us, Sam,” Castiel assures, moving in closer. “He’ll be happy and he’ll be himself again, you’ll see. It won’t take long and you’ll have your brother back just like he should be, I promise you. Alpha?” Sam looks down into those stunning eyes. “You understand that, don’t you?”

Sam smiles sweetly and bends a soft kiss into the jet coloured nest again, holding there and waiting in that wonderful _home_ scent before lifting off and catching those eyes again. “It’s been a long time, Cas. He’s been in that _place_ ,” Cas flinches at the growl so Sam rests his chin on top of his mates head, “for a very long time, baby. We’ll just have to play it as it comes, I guess.” Cas nods and sighs into Sam’s chest. “We can’t tell him just yet, though. He needs to get back into his mind again, heal physically and mentally before we even consider him knowing. At this point it’s probably too much to handle.” Cas nods again. Sam looks up at the front seat, Ellen’s sturdy shape illuminated by the mid-morning sun, strong and steady and _home_. The wolf in him smiles and he releases one hand from his slumbering brother to place it on her shoulder. She turns slightly and eyes him in the rear-view mirror.

“Sam?” she asks.

“Will you let the others know? No one is to tell Dean or hint to Dean of our situation until I say otherwise and if they do, they’ll see me. In fact, no one is allowed entry into his room at any time without either me, you, Cas or Jo, alright?” Ellen nods. “Good. Thank you, Ellen.”

The beta smiles in the mirror before she lifts up in the seat and her eyes trail to Dean’s seraph-like face, marred and painful looking. The smile turns to a grin and she winks at Sam. “Kid grew fast, didn't 'e, Sammy?”

Sam huffs a laugh and offers the woman a lopsided smile. “Yeah, he did. Damn, I still remember him in diapers, what the hell happened?”

“Those eyeballs haven’t changed though. Thinking back, we probably should’ve guessed he’d turn out omega; peepers like that come around once in a lifetime, should’ve known he’d grow into ‘em.”

“That’s probably true, actually,” Sam laughs, looking down at the incapacitated sixteen year old in his arms. “Then again, look at Cas and he’s all beta.” Said beta shuffles closer.

“Yeah, but Cas is a freaky anomaly,” Ellen says and they laugh—uneasy and troubled but real and much needed.

“Thank you, Ellen,” Castiel says smoothly, smiling. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

When they finally arrive back at the house, it’s long gone an eighteen hour drive. Of course Alastair lived in the next three fucking states over, probably just to piss Sam off, the piece of fucking shit he is.

Looking back now, he’s actually very fucking fortunate Sam didn’t kill him. He was going to; he was seconds from keeping his fingers wrapped around that stupid, murderous throat when he heard Dean whimper (from the pain that _asshole_ dished out to him) and he knew he couldn’t do it. Not that he _couldn’t_ , because oh, he so fucking could, he just realised in that miraculous split second that if he waged war on a decent sized pack that Dean could very easily end up back with him. Dean wouldn’t resist, Alastair was his Alpha after all, and Sam sure as hell can’t watch that happen. So he dropped the bastard and went back to his mate. It’s also a miracle Sam didn’t completely lose it and shift; then they would be in deep shit. Shifting on someone else’s pack land is like signing your own death certificate and Sam isn’t willing to do that. Sam has a baby brother to save.

“Up you come, little one, come on, kiddo,” Sam coos, following Cas from the car with an unconsciously whining Dean coiled into his arms. “Nearly there, Dean, we’re nearly home baby boy, you’re nearly safe, pup, come on now.”

Jo meets them at the door and grins, her eyes flitting from Dean’s face to Sam’s and back again. Sam smiles back with the same childish, disbelieving giddiness. “Fuck, he got pretty.”

Sam snorts a laugh and Jo flinches down from the hand her mother swipes over the top of her head. “Joanna Beth, you do not use language like that under this roof, do you understand me?”

“Sorry, mom,” the beta rolls her eyes and looks nine again, annoyed with Ellen calling her in for dinner from playing outside with baby Dean and Sam. She grins up at Sam again. “The rooms done and dusted, me and Ash were in there all morning. How is he?”

Sam sighs and lays a kiss to the top of her head, revelling basely in the bow of obedience she allows him. He lets her lead all four of them up the two flights of stairs to Dean’s new room. “Rejected.”

Jo pauses. “Seriously? I thought that only happened with time away from the Alpha, not like, two seconds.”

“The bastard screamed in his face that he didn’t want him and backhanded him to the floor. I’m pretty sure if you want to reject an omega that’s how you do it.”

“Shit,” Jo breathes before looking quickly around for her mother. “He’s in pretty rough shape, huh?”

Sam nods and sighs again. “We knew that going in, kiddo. But...he was begging for the guy, y’know? I just never really imagined Dean would be like that…”

“It’s not him, Sam, not really,” Castiel soothes, rubbing a hand along Sam’s strained triceps. “He’s been pulled this way and that, he doesn’t know what’s right or wrong anymore, but he’ll pull through. He’s a Winchester, isn’t he?”

Sam’s gonna kiss his mate with every fibre in his being the second his brother’s down and safe and cared for, the _second_ Sam knows Dean’s okay, he’s gonna knot his Beta. He needs to do something with all this extra adrenaline, after all. Mm, maybe they can shift...

“Gross, Sam, I can smell you,” Jo hisses, wafting a hand over her nose. Sam lets out a hefty laugh and nudges her forward with his booted toe, winking over to Cas’ flushed face. Yep, they’ll go to bed and Sam will knot him so good, he’s such a perfect boy, so beautiful and loving and even though he knows what taking on an Omega entails, he’s perfectly willing to do it anyway. Yeah, he fucking _deserves_ a knot right now.

The room’s perfect and Sam lets Dean down into the plush bed as gently as he can manage, minding the pain-hot-spots and pulling the sheets up to his prefect little chin.

“I’ll keep you safe, little brother,” he whispers, brushing a kiss to the Omega's forehead. “I’ll make everything better, baby, I promise you. I love you, Dean.”

=*=Ω=*=

When Dean wakes up, he’s not in pain and that freaks him out more than anything. His eyes snap open but they feel heavy and he has to force them to stay there, his breathing quickens and he’s covered by something heavy, pushing him down and holding him docile…

“Woah, woah, hey kiddo,” and then there’s hands, two gentle hands holding Dean down into…the _mattress_? What the hell? “Calm down, Dean, you’re okay, just calm down, shh.”

Yeah, it’s a mattress. And he’s drowning under a thick, white duvet, tucked up right to his chin, holding him in, holding him _down—_ Dean shoves it off and sure enough, there’s the pain again. Fuck, _dammit_ , that hurts and he yowls out like some baby wolf-pup at the harshness of it all biting into his very core.

“Well, _duh_ , dude, you can’t move yet, obviously,” the voice says, female, gamma, and the same hands tuck his throbbing legs back under the thing, though she lets his arms stay above the comforter. Dean just hisses pitifully and curls deeper into himself, bending his back slightly and lowering his chin. He doesn’t sleep like this; so open and relaxed, it’s dangerous, it leaves his torso open to anything and he doesn’t like that. Even on the rare occasions Master ever lets him sleep in the big-bed with him after they knotted, he would—

 _Master_. Shit.

Dean’s sorry when he pukes up all over the soft white down, but honestly, he can’t help it. The gamma swears and backs up, runs away to get the new Alpha so he can reprimand Dean for being a disgusting animal right off the bat, let the rules be set in place from the start so Dean doesn’t get confused—but Dean won’t get confused, he’s good at following orders; sure, his mangled face disagrees, but he really is, he just gets lost or too relaxed or his body betrays him, just like now and—

“Hey, hey, little one, calm down,” more hands, more restraints, more pressure. A Beta, though, familiar? “Hush, Omega, you’re okay.” Yes, familiar. From that night with Master and the new Alpha—this time when Dean throws up there’s a basin there, yellow plastic right underneath his mouth, another hand holding his head up and to the side. “There you go, pup, there you go. Let it all out, Dean, it’s okay, you’re okay, come on, sweetheart, you're doing great.”

It’s not okay. None of this; not one tiny single little thing is _‘okay’_. Master doesn’t want Dean, Master said he _hates_ Dean and Master sold him to another pack, Master doesn’t care. And that, that pinprick of knowledge is all that matters anymore. No Alpha, no pack, no life, no nothing, Dean’s just gonna die alone and rot and cry forever more like the pathetic little thing he is, like Master always says he is… “ _Alpha_ …” Dean cries in mourning.

“I know, Dean, I know you need your alpha, I know it hurts, come on now, little one—let it up, shshsh,” and fuck everything, Dean empty’s the very depths of his scrawny stomach until he’s just dry heaving into the bowl, shucking up everything that’s ever come into contact with his body. It just adds to the pain and the humiliation but Dean doesn’t care because it doesn’t matter. “ _Shit_ ,” the word’s murmured into his hair. “Jo? Get Sam here for me, will you? I just…I think he just needs _Alpha_  right now, I don’t think it really matters who it is. Tell him he’s not listening, alright?”

The Gamma leaves and her scent follows with her, leaving behind puke and pathetic Omega and bitter Beta, taut with something akin to ( _but obviously not_ ) worry and trepidation. Dean rocks back onto the bed and shivers, his body convulsing around the movement and one hand finds his hair, the other strokes the back of his own trembling hand. “Hush little pup, hush now, precious pup, everything’s okay,” _Itdoesn’tmatteritdoesn’tmatteritdoesn’tmattter_ …

“Angel?”

 _Alpha_. “Alpha?” Dean keens, snapping his eyes wide again and rolling them towards the scent, his body drifting of its own accordance to the giant striding towards him, the long hair resting on the top of the perfect column of tanned neck… “Alpha, _please_ ,” and that’s a whine.

“Aw, baby boy, come here,” Alphas says, two gigantic hands moving to Dean’s armpits and tugging him up, hauling him closer to that body, the Alpha body, the smell, the _Alpha_ …until he’s pulled back away again and lets out a high-pitched whine. Dean’s practically kneeling on the edge of the bed, held up gently by those hands like a toddler being surveyed, turning him this way and that with a furrowed brow. Dean huffs and shuffles as close as the vice-hands will let him. And then he’s on the bed again, laid down until his head connects with something suspiciously lap-like and more hands hold him down, more fucking hands telling him what to do and he growls before he can help it—before freezing on the spot and shaking because he just _growled at an Alpha_. Fuck.

“I’m sorry,” he breaths, looking nowhere with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m...I'm really s-sorry, please, I…”

Hand at his temple, thumb on his cheek—“No omega, don’t be sorry, you didn’t mean it, it’s okay, shh, you’re okay. We’re just getting you out of those clothes, alright? We’ll get you in a bath later, if that’s what you want, hmm? A nice warm bath with your Alpha. Is that alright, little one?”

“...Yes,” Dean whispers because that was a direct question and he’s supposed to answer those, though he’s not sure he wants to. The alpha part sounds good though…

Hands at his waist. Pulling down his bloodied jeans, tugging off the slim boxers Master likes him wearing—he waits for the nausea but it doesn’t come. Instead there’s just Alpha touching him and Alpha stroking him and that does actually matter. It feels good. He’s lifted slightly, until someone tries to lift his arms and his body does that stupid annoying thing where it tries to control what he does, so he cries out and drags them back down, back towards his throbbing ribs.

“Why the hell didn’t we do this yesterday?” his Alpha sighs, reaching over for something in a drawer by the bed. When huge, silver glinting scissors come into view, Dean bucks, but only because his body warns him to. He shoves against the Beta at his back, and when that doesn’t work he just shoves straight into him, burying into the available warmth for stupidly expected protection.

His body wants to beg but for the first time in too goddamn long, he manages to keep a handle on that stupid instinct. He just trembles and hurts and hopes Alpha doesn’t want to scar him too badly or too deep like Master always does.

“ _Jesus_ ,” Alpha hisses behind Dean, Dean just huddles closer to the Beta. He’s pulled comfortingly tight. “Uh…Dean? Sweetheart, I’m…I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? No one here’s gonna hurt you, I promise, Dean, I promise you that, alright?”

Is that a direct question? Dean’s not sure, but by the time his mind’s worked it out, his body’s being turned back around to face the Alpha and he’s just gonna have to trust the words are true. He still shivers when the scissors come closer, when they touch his stomach and leave a cold trail all up his torso as they slice through the shirt. They move to the sleeves, both sides until the flimsy fabric is peeled clean off and discarded somewhere Dean can’t see. He wants to cover up his delicately naked body, curl inwards in shame at its thousands of blemishes but he isn’t to deny his Alpha anything. That would be bad, and Dean’s already been too bad now, once more and he’ll probably hurt again, feel the lick of Alpha’s belt or the sharp sting of those scissors in his skin. He doesn’t really know if his body will survive that.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Alphas says, and if Dean didn’t know any better, he might say Alpha sounds…sad? Moved, upset? Did Dean do that? He hadn’t meant to, he doesn’t remember doing anything to make his Alpha so somber.

So Dean just curls up because Alpha’s eyes are piercing into Dean’s body and whispers a tentative, “ _I’m sorry_ ,” back. His Alpha smiles sadly and sniffs.

“Don’t be sorry for anything, Dean. This, absolutely _none_ of this, is your fault…you understand me, baby?” He moves closer and his hands go beneath Dean’s arms again, hauling him up and to him until Dean can curl himself around the Alpha’s torso, stick his nose into the collar of his shirt and inhale everything there is to inhale. The relief—the palpable _relief_ —is almost too much, almost nauseating with how freaking good it feels and Dean thrusts himself as physically close to the warm body as he can. It feels really good. “There we go, sweetheart, there you go, you’re okay, baby, everything’s okay, come on now… Angel, will you run the bath for me, please?”

“Of course,” his Beta says, Dean absently hears him shift from the bed and glide across the room, open a door and disappear inside of it. Water running, a hand halting the flow for a second, then the door shutting and muting most of it out altogether.

They’re moving a little while later, Alpha moves across the room slowly, shifting Dean to slump on his hip, his arms stuck to his sides but his hands burying themselves in the Alpha’s plaid shirt. He snuffles his nose as deep as he can get it, running it all along the perfectly bronzed stretch of skin, up into the long hair at the nape of his neck. “Is that better, beautiful?”

Dean hums and nods, adding a, “Yes, Alpha,” in case he’s like Master and thinks it’s not an answer unless it’s heard. The Alpha rocks him against his hip, soothing and rhythmic until Dean just melts slightly in comfort, lets his whole body just relax against the wall of muscle and skin and Alpha, so perfect…

It’s only when the beta calls out, “Sam?” from behind the bathroom door that Dean realises he was almost sleeping; residing in that dream-like place between conscious and unconscious, nestled still beside his Alpha.

He blinks up blearily at the man, meeting stunning hazel eyes of blue and green and brown in a fleeting second before Dean remembers himself and lowers his gaze like he’s supposed to. He hums in apology, but those arms just hug him tighter.

“You can look at me whenever you want to, Dean. Especially into my eyes.”

But Dean doesn’t. Dean wouldn’t; Omegas aren’t high enough in society to give anyone eye contact, let alone his own Alpha. One time, a few years ago now, Dean had travelled with Master on a business trip with the rest of his pack and Dean had been kneeling by his side in another packs home – he’d looked and smiled passingly at the Omega there and they’d both been punished together on the wooden coffee table. Dean still feels really bad about that…

“Dean?”

Oh. They’re in the bathroom now, Alpha’s holding Dean just above the water and Dean didn’t even notice they’d moved at all. He climbs gently down, clutching at a rolled up sleeve for balance until his feet land solidly in the water and the Alpha lowers him further, keeping a hold of Dean until he’s curled up with the water to his sternum, his knees to his chin. The water’s warm, stinging even, forcing Dean to notice every single cut scarring his body, every burn still tender and every welt still raised—he flinches before he can control it and flinches again when he realises what he just did.

“Is it sore, sweetheart?” Alpha asks, kneeling at Dean’s side so they’re simple inches apart and Dean can lean towards him if he wants to—and he definitely does—so he shuffles as close as he can to the porcelain and rests his head on an offered palm. He breathes along the wrist.

Dean remembers to answer, so he whispers, “It’s...nice. Thank you,” which for some reason makes Alpha smile.

“Good, I’m pleased. Dean, is it okay if Castiel gets in with you? He can hold you, if you’d like, keep you warm.”

Dean peers up at the Beta just in time to catch the fleeting, suspicious eyed glance he gives the Alpha before his eyes turn to Dean and Dean throws his own down at the bubbles around him. “Yes,” he whispers, answering the question just like Master taught him to.

He watches in his peripheral vision as the Beta slowly strips—first his pale blue button up, revealing a firm stretch of tanned flesh, muscles moving gently with his motions, tensed upper-arms—then he quickly unbuttons his jeans, pushes them to his ankles and steps out of them, peeling off his black socks with balanced elegance. His eyes hover momentarily to Sam, he raises his eyebrows a tiny fraction and he pulls down the navy blue boxer-briefs to reveal a well-endowed member laying flaccid between his thighs. Dean shuffles forward when he moves to step into the bath, settling down behind Dean and pulling him closer, tucking him against the beta’s body. Dean’s tense—not because it doesn’t feel wonderful, because it does—but because next to _‘Castiel’_ …Dean looks like trash; broken and ruined trash and the beta’s absolutely perfect. A wet hand strokes over his hair.

“Are you alright, little one?” the Beta asks, tugging Dean in even tighter, urging him down to relax against the proffered chest and Dean goes because this is Alpha’s mate and Dean should obey him. He leans his head back for good measure, letting it hit the strong shoulder, and nuzzles into his neck.

He answers instinctively, “Yes.”

“Good. You’re doing so well, little pup, you know that? So well and we’re very glad you’re here, Dean, away from that place and safe forever now, safe here with us.” Lips press with the hand, the other moves in front of Dean to clutch up a flannel and wet it in the water, press it to Dean’s scarred and ruined chest. “Tell me if it hurts, sweetheart,” is whispered into his ear.

Alpha seems to have found a stool during all of this and he’s sat down on it now, leaning forward with a warm smile Dean wants to lean into forever. His hand moves back to Dean’s head and he threads it through the strands, soothes them down from the wetness the Beta left behind.

“Do you know how precious you are, baby?” Alpha asks, his voice taking on a faraway quality, drifting with his eyes over Dean’s marred flesh. Dean ducks down, he doesn’t want to answer but he has to…

“I don’t…” he tries, because he’s not really, is he? He’s rare, sure, but Omegas are just stains on the earth’s surface, people do them great favours taking them in, that’s what Master always says. He was being good, selfless taking Dean into his pack because no one else wanted him and Dean would end up on the streets without him. “I’m an omega…” he says.

Alpha chuckles and Dean can feel the rapid breath of a silent laugh on his neck from the Beta, his hand clutches tighter to Dean’s stomach. “I know you are, little pup, that’s why you’re so special.” His voice darkens. “What did your _‘Master’_ tell you?”

“Sam,” Castiel warns softly and the Alpha actually _softens_ , as if he actually paid attention to his Beta…this place is weird.

Dean answers. “He was kind to take me in, no one else wanted me. Omegas are just things people have to deal with because we’re just _here_... Right?” he frowns, unsure of punishment.

The Alpha lets out a soft snarl, his eyes lifting with an oddly helpless quality to the Beta behind Dean. “No, Dean. That isn’t _right_.” He darts forward then and Dean jumps, he takes a hold of Dean’s head in both his hands and looks deeply, _fiercely_ into Dean’s eyes until he has no choice but to take notice and meet them head on. It’s like looking at the sun, but Dean does it anyway because it’s obviously what Alpha wants him to do, even is his heart beats like it's trying to break straight from his chest. “One day, Dean, I’ll make you see how precious you are. I’ll show you just what you mean to me, what you mean to my pack. I’ll make you see what omegas really are if it’s the last thing I do.”

Dean’s released then, maybe not quite a moment too soon, but then the Alpha stands, closes his eyes in mourning and turns on the spot to walk out of the room. Dean reaches out a hand after him but that hurts so he reigns it back in, allows the Beta to hold onto it for him and keep washing the sodden flannel gently over his broken skin.

“He cares about you a lot, Dean," he mutters into Dean's hair. "He just wants you safe and it’s hard for him to see you in so much pain. But he’ll be back, little pup, don’t worry. Would you like me to stay with you when you go back to bed?” Dean hisses at one particular welt along his thigh and turns his head back into the warm neck.

“Yes, please,” he mutters into the skin. “He—he doesn’t know me.”

Castiel kisses his temple. “He knows you well enough, little one. You’re his pack now; it’s in his blood to take care of you, and especially as an Omega. You’ll learn, sweetheart, you will.”

Dean nods because he’s not sure what else to do and waits for the Beta to finish on his skin.

“Let’s get you up and dry, shall we?” the beta says, all but hefting Dean’s weight into standing all by himself. He wraps a towel around Dean, rubs it along his arms gently before donning one of his own and leading the way out of the bathroom.

Dean wonders idly how old this beta is. Younger than Alpha, definitely, older than Dean…early to mid-twenties, maybe?

Dean eyes the bed with envious eyes, especially when he has to practically toe forwards if he wants to make it there at all, and the Beta keeps up perfectly with his excruciating pace. He drops his towel on the floor, takes Dean’s and drops that too and he pulls back the sheets ( _now suddenly clean, Dean sees, when did that happen?_ ) before stepping back for Dean to climb in. He does so with a more than relieved sigh of content.

“Is it okay?” the Beta asks and Dean nods before he knows what he’s nodding to, but when the Beta climbs in beside him and their slick skin touches again, Dean crowds in and sticks his nose in the Betas neck, nuzzles there until he drifts slightly, until nothing else matters but the bed, the Beta and Dean’s smile. “Good night, little Dean.”

Dean smiles wider in his dazed state. “Good night, Castiel.”


	2. Hey Jude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I enjoyed this, I'm not gonna lie...  
> As always, I'm an awful human being - enjoy!

Dean’s pretty sure he only bothers opening his eyes because he smells food. But not just food; not like a waft from the next door kitchen’s when he’s called in for Master, not like Master’s dinner taunting him from up at the table. This…this is _food_. And it’s close and warm and damn does it smell good.

And when he does open his eyes, he’d enjoy nothing more than to slam them shut again but he doesn’t because his stomach doesn’t want him to. Pesky body instincts. With his eyes blaringly open, everything just comes swarming back in one huge wave and shrinking beneath the soft, awesomely white duvet sounds pretty good. Obviously, he doesn’t. He simply blinks around dazedly, taking in the white walls, the white carpet, randomly appointed plotted plants and a giant TV plonked right there in front of him, mounted on one pearl-hued wall. The windows are nice though, he sees, huge and revealed, showing off the either early or late day sunshine, over to his left. And without even having to turn his head, he knows there’s one door leading to the bathroom over in the wall at his right and another one leading to a corridor opposite that. The bath was nice; Dean’s pretty sure the thing could fit at least three people and it was warm, comforting, soothing and he can distinctly remember the floor being decorated in white and black squares because it was such a cliché…

“Hey, you’re awake,” says a voice, pulling Dean from his mind and dragging him out into the real world again. He hasn’t quite decided if it’s somewhere he wants to stay yet. Then again, when he looks over to the Gamma—the one from last night, long blonde hair and big brown eyes—he discovers she’s holding a bowl of something steaming and suspiciously good smelling and he decides he might as well give it a go. He watches when she smiles. “Hungry, huh? Here, sit up and you can have as much as you want.”

He does. Or, at the very least, he tries. As it turns out, he’s still achy and he’s still naked and levelling his hands down on the soft mattress to haul his knackered body up takes more from him than it probably should. In the end, the Gamma just smiles and puts the bowl down—Dean follows it like a hawk with his eyes—and lifts Dean’s head to stack pillows beneath it. It’s slightly less comfortable and his head’s at a weird angle but at least this way he’s less likely to choke and he shouldn’t complain, even in his own head. He’s getting food, he should be on the floor. He won’t bring that up either; if she’s happy to give him food in bed, who the hell is he to complain? And if it leads to punishment, so be it. Food is food and right now, Dean needs food. And water. Water sounds good.

“So, how d’you feel today?” the Gamma asks, grabbing the bowl again and all too slowly stirring a spoon into its contents, drifting the beautiful scent right up to Dean’s nose…

“Good,” he says, answering the question. “Thank you.” He notices idly how rough his voice is but he doesn’t pay attention. _Foodfoodfoodfoodfood_ –

“I’m glad to hear it. You look better, that’s for sure,” and then the spoon touches Dean’s lips, empties itself into his mouth and _holy fuck_ that’s good. He moans—he doesn’t mean to but he’s pretty sure he couldn’t help it if he tried. The beta laughs. “That good, huh? Well, my mom’ll be pleased to hear it.” She’s pretty when she smiles and absolutely radiant when she lifts another spoonful closer, pouring the yellow liquid through his lips. There’s meat in it (bacon? _Damn_ ) but other than that, Dean has no clue what the hell it is beyond _absolutely awesome_.

He wolf’s it down in probably under a minute, cranes his head to the nightstand in hope of a secret stash of crackers or something, but the Gamma just laughs again and pats a hand on his arm. Dean mewls at the empty wood.

“Sorry, kiddo, liquids only,” she says. Huh. They didn’t agree to that. “Hey, don’t look at me like that, it was Mom’s idea, I’m just the messenger. You want some water?” Dean’s brain’s still pissy about the liquids thing, but his throat and mouth are dry and water sounds good, so he nods. The Gamma lets him drink half a glassful before pulling away and Dean tries to go with it, but a hand halts his chest. He peers up awkwardly into her hazel eyes.

“P-please?” he asks, unsure because he really needs a drink and he doesn’t want to ask, he really doesn’t, but he needs water…like now. He averts his eyes when she sighs, shrinks back up for the impending strike.

“Sorry, buddy. But you have too much too soon, it’s gonna make you ill…crap, one more sip, then,” and Dean offers an apologetic smile when she lets him have more.

She doesn’t hit him. She doesn’t even smell angry, just that sweet, almost salady scent, fresh like a brisk spring morning. It’s nice. And that calm smell stays whilst she pets through Dean’s hair, offering up tiny sips of that water every five minutes or so in between random tidbits of conversation that Dean thinks he’s supposed to understand but doesn’t.

“…and they finished the _whole_ freaking series with the mother dying. Bullshit, if you ask me, but Charlie says it was ‘an artistic decision’ or whatever—I just think they got lazy.”

Dean has absolutely no idea who Ted or Tracy or Charlie are and he feels like he should but he really doesn’t. Somewhere along the line, he figures she’s talking about a TV show, though she never really explained, but it’s okay because Dean likes it when she talks. It’s distracting. And she seems to be enjoying herself so he would never interrupt her, she smells too good.

“Joanna Beth, you’re gonna bore the poor kid to an early grave,” and Dean jumps pretty much out of his skin.

He hadn’t even noticed the door opening and that never happens, he’s always on guard, Master and his pack made sure of it—so when he peers timidly over to an older, pretty woman standing in the doorway, he mentally punches himself. He needs to stay on his toes if he doesn’t want to get hurt again.

“Ellen? What’s wrong with his face?” a little girl whispers, peeking out timidly from behind the woman’s legs, clutching tightly to the denim there, ducking back sharply when she notices Dean’s gaze. What _is_ wrong with his face?

“Hush, Tyler, you little squirt,” the woman says, swatting the little girl lightly with the dishtowel in her hand, though she doesn’t seem angry. She’s still smiling. Smiling at Dean. “There’s nothing wrong with his face, handsome thing it is. Sweetheart, will you go make sure Ben’s behaving himself? You know how he gets with the dough…” And then Tyler’s off, darting away in a streak of green and pink.

Ellen walks into the room and sits on the bed beside Dean, perched almost side-saddle, next to Jo. Jo and Ellen. Dean wonders what he should address them as.

“Good morning, Dean,” she greets, offering another smile. Jo’s hand leaves Dean’s hair in favour of collecting up the dirty dishes on the nightstand and a stab of guilt hits Dean’s chest that he doesn’t help her. He shouldn’t still be in bed, but he probably can’t get up anyway, so he stays there. “How do you feel?”

Dean wishes he’d stop being asked that. The woman scoots closer when Jo gets up from her chair and leaves with the bundle in her arms and a wink, takes her vacated place. Dean misses the touch already.

“I feel okay,” he says, because that’s the truth. He feels better than he did, put it that way.

“You sure, kiddo? You still smell kinda worked up.”

That’s because he’s in the middle of some strange pack without his Alpha, without any Alpha and he’s beginning to miss his blanket back home. He even misses Master’s carpet, the nice rich red one in his study Dean was shoved to on his last day there, when Master said he didn’t want Dean…

“Hey, hey, hey,” she says and a hand finds a safe place on the crown of his head again, petting at his hair. He shuffles into it because touch is nice and he misses it. Speaking of, were did Castiel go; the Beta with the black hair and the blue eyes and the ocean’s scent, Alpha’s own scent swaddling him, holding Dean in the bath…where's _Alpha_? “Don’t cry, little guy, you’re okay.” A thumb brushes Dean’s cheek and only when the liquid is spread does he realise he was actually crying. Dammit. He’s had enough of that since yesterday…or whenever it was. Since the bathtub. He definitely misses the bathtub and Castiel’s skin against his and Alpha’s warm hand on his face. He grumbles. He’d appreciate Alpha right about now.

“Sorry,” Dean offers, blinking away the tears and rubbing a quick hand over the ones to already have escaped. It hurts and he wonders if whatever blemishes mark his skin was what the kid was on about.

Ellen chuckles and she sounds like Jo when she does. “Don’t apologise, sweetheart. After what you’ve been through, I think a few tears are warranted, don’t you?”

…What he’s been through? The rejection, does she mean? Well yeah, sure, the rejection had sucked but Dean knows omegas go through them all the time, Master had always warned Dean before they visited with someone that if he misbehaved he would reject Dean. Whenever masters grow tired of their omegas, they just get rid of them, it’s not uncommon. Dean feels like he should be over it by now, at least.

But Dean doesn’t say anything. He just draws in her scent, slightly darker than Jo’s but still nice and similar, and tilts his head for better petting access. Alpha’s huge hand still felt better, though.

“You’re a good little thing, aren’t you? God knows what that bastard was thinking, rejecting you like that.” So it is the rejection. “Why he even kept an Omega in the first place if he was just gonna treat you like his own personal slave is beyond me…”

Dean gets the distinct feeling she’s not addressing him, not really. Her voice is taking on another quality, far away as if she’s just thinking out loud. Azazel used to do that years ago when Dean was the perfect size to fit on his lap, all the time he would talk at Dean about one thing or another, usually business. Dean never understood it, he just liked the warmth.

She smells sad, all of a sudden, her hand stills in Dean’s hair and her pretty face takes on a reminiscent quality as a frown, her brow knitting together. Dean peers up, but he’s not sure what he should do.

“I’m sorry this happened, Dean, I really am. Jesus, you didn’t deserve any of this, you were just a kid—you _are_ just a kid,” he voice is taught and Dean’s caught with a horrible fear that she might cry, so instinctively he pushes in closer, tugging his body behind him as his arms do all the work, crawling until he’s just close enough and he can reach over and rest his head at her neck. She’s close enough to the bed that he doesn’t worry he’s going to just topple off, so he scents her, nuzzling near her shoulder length hair.

She stalls and Dean grows a sick churning in his stomach that she’s going to be mad at his assumptions and he starts to pull away because obviously, this is a new pack, they won’t like the same things as his old one, they might not like Dean’s forcing…

But then her hand starts up again and she draws him even closer, until he’s almost half off the bed with his hands balancing themselves on her shoulders. And when she lays a soft kiss to his cheek, he takes the probably stupid initiative to clamber off the bed altogether and curl up as tight as he can over her lap, steady in a somewhat wide armchair. Her arms are tight and wonderful around him and he shuffles in closer. She smells softer now, as though her tears have gone and he puffs up slightly in pride that he was the one to do that.

“Good boy,” she murmurs into his ear, both hands rubbing soothing patterns over his back.

In too late a second, he realises he is still, in fact, butt naked and completely bare to her gaze, every mark on his skin is open to the world, every bruise on his back is bare to her fingers, but she’s gentle and careful and it doesn’t hurt once. So Dean stays exactly where he is. He wonders casually if this pack is like the one over in Nevada where Master used to habitually take him when he was little more than a pup, where all the Omegas were allowed to wear were their collars, but that was it. Dean wasn’t a big fan of that place, but Master used to like it so he never dared to say anything bad. Dean wonders if this Alpha will make him wear a collar all the time or just out of the house and on special occasions like Master did. Dean hopes not—the collars are itchy as hell.

When Ellen starts singing to him, his ears prick up.

“ _Hey Jude, don’t make it bad, take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better_ ,” her voice is low and murmured against Dean’s ear, the breath warm and damp but the words…he recognises them. They’re familiar and painful but Dean doesn’t remember and he wishes he did and he’s burrowing himself deeper into her hold with a tight mewl before he can help it and she continues on anyway, “Shh, sweetheart, you’re okay. _Hey Jude, don’t be afraid, you were made to go out and get her. The minute you let her under your skin, then you begin to make it better._ ”

It’s good and bad all in one go because Dean feels nice, warm and cared for in an unfamiliar way but the words…he _knows_ them. It’s a memory and it’s _right there_ but it doesn’t want to be found and that hurts most of all. He knows for a hundred percent fact that it wasn’t from Master and he wasn’t allowed music back at the home…it’s from before that. Before he was an omega, before Master bought him and gave him a real home, before he taught him how to provide. Back when he was a pup and the only thing he ever had to care about was what coloured crayon would look less stupid as a skin tone. And before he knows it, he’s crying again.

Ellen just shushes softly at him once more, pets through his hair, bounces him up higher on her lap and he snuggles closer but she stops singing and that’s somehow worse.

“Please,” he tries, keeping a tight control on his stupid, _betraying_ voice, “Please don’t stop.”

She keeps going for a few more minutes, rocking Dean like Alpha had, back and forth in a comforting rhythm and after a while, Dean’s eyes drift and he sniffs before scrubbing over his face again and hiding back in her neck. He feels like a pup; being sung lullaby’s and snuggling into his mom’s lap but this isn’t his mom and he’s sixteen years old, for Christ’s sake. Then again, he was worse with Castiel and Alpha, so this should be some kind of relief. Still. He shouldn’t be so weak, not in a new place. He’s already the Omega and they already have kids here, if Tyler’s any proof, and he’s _not_ a child, he’s perfectly capable taking care of himself. He did a perfectly adequate job with Master; even if all he ever wanted was Master’s warmth beside him or Master’s knot in heat—hell, _out_ of heat, as long as Master was close. But Dean dealt with it when Master ignored him or leant him periodically to Azazel. He was never this freaking clingy and he most definitely shouldn’t be now. What the hell happened to good first impressions?

“Feel better, sweetheart?” Ellen asks, rucking one hand up beneath Dean’s thigh in a secure hold and stroking the other over his clean hair. His hair’s clean, his body’s clean but he’s never felt dirtier, more betraying. He suddenly hates himself with every fibre of his being and he crawls from the bitter sweet comfort, away from the nice lady and curls up by himself under the covers. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve any of it and if Master doesn’t want him, no one else should—look at him, for Christ’s sake. He looks like a punching bag in a professional gym, he looks wrong on the pristine sheets, wrong beside Jo and her nice clothes, wrong with Ellen’s sweet touches.

He just wants Master, is that too much to ask?

“Aw, no, Dean,” she says, a hand reaching out for him, for his ruined arm. Dean pulls it away but feels instantly bad about it; if she wants to touch him, it’s not his place to decide. So he puts it back within her reach and closes his eyes against the world. He doesn’t want to deal with it today. “Sweetie, what’s the matter? Dean, will you tell me what’s wrong?”

Dammit.

“I don’t deserve it,” he mutters, forcing the words out because he’s _supposed_ to. “I shouldn’t enjoy this; enjoy _you_ because I’m betraying Master and he would be mad at me. I look horrible and I’m dirty.”

He lists off the things that swim his head but the song part he leaves out. That’s his and if no-one knows it’s in his brain then he can’t get punished for it so it’s staying completely put in his mind’s darkest corners.

Ellen’s hand reaches for him again and he tries not to flinch but he does. He’s still stroked though. “You’re not dirty, Dean,” she whispers, her thumb running like silk over an old green bruise. “And you deserve…a _hell_ of a lot more than you’ve been dealt, I can tell you that. And your Master,” she dips lower to catch his eyes, ( _and she's the first not to use the term as though it's disgusting and an embarrassment and Dean's pathetically pleased for that_ ), “he doesn’t deserve _you_ , not the other way around, sweetie, he's the one that rejected you, remember?”

Of course Dean remembers. It’s still swimming around his skull in a relentless, taunting chant.

“Because I did something wrong…” Dean tries, blinking his thoughts through.

“No you didn’t, Dean,” she says, her voice full of a strong finality Dean can’t ever remember feeling. “You’ve been nothing but perfect to that asshole, don’t you forget that ever, do you hear me? He’s the one in the wrong, Dean, not you. Never you, little pup, never you.”

“Ellen?” The voice is deep but the smell is better and Dean jolts his eyes over to the newcomer with more happiness than he knows he should ever be feeling, but he can’t help it. He misses the skin.

Castiel walks into the room with a smile and a plate, another tall glass but it’s filled with a purple liquid, sticking to the sides. Dean’s stomach growls.

“Cas,” Ellen greets, taking the things from him and setting them down on the nightstand again. Dean hopes foolishly that the food is for him. “How is everything?”

Castiel sighs and he just stands there, mere metres from Dean and he wants to reach out, pull the Beta with the Better scent closer, but he’s blazingly obviously not in that horrible phase of rejection anymore so he stops himself without that excuse. He doesn’t halt his wide eyed gaze, though.

“Good so far, I think. I hear Tyler got a glimpse of Dean here,” he says and those crystal eyes lower to Dean’s pitiful form and Dean looks away.

“Mm,” Ellen hums, lowering a hand to Dean’s own, linking their fingers. “She wasn’t very complimentary, though, I think she might have offended him.” When Dean looks up, her eyes are playful and a soft smile dances at her mouth, she winks when he blinks dazedly.

“Well, you must have made a good enough impression, she won’t stop talking about you. I say talking. I mean bragging.”

Apparently this is funny, because Ellen laughs and drops Dean’s fingers, looping her arms over Castiel’s shoulders and squeezing. Dean doesn’t understand and that too familiar feeling is starting to get on his nerves. So, like the child he’s pretending not to be, he turns his back on the scene, yanks the duvet to his shoulders and buries his face in the darkness. He’s gonna get punished, but so what? It can’t be any worse than Master.

A weight lowers to the mattress for a few seconds and Dean feels the spring-like scent move closer before a pair of soft lips meet with the back of his skull, “I’ll be back later Dean,” a hand smooth’s over the spot when the lips leave and the weight moves from the bed altogether, Dean lets out a subtle sigh. “I’ll send Jo with dinner, Cas.”

Ellen leaves in a few light footsteps, the door opens but she doesn’t shut it. There’s silence for a few long seconds and Dean stays tensely right where he is, but apparently so does Castiel. Then there’s a sigh.

“I have food for you Dean, but you can’t have it under the covers. Would you like to come out? I have a smoothie as well and I’m willing to share.”

Damn him. 

The smell’s hitting again and it smells good, sweet, maybe even slightly better than the soup so his body drags him above the covers without Dean’s explicit say so. This time, he manages to haul himself into sitting, folding his legs and waiting patiently with his hands in his lap, his eyes boring into them, for the plate or the food, even the smoothie. But Castiel just watches him with a small smile and before long, reaches a hand to caress Dean’s temple.

“I’m very glad we have you, do you know that? Everyone’s asking about you, they can’t wait to meet the new Omega.”

And if that doesn’t make Dean feel sick, he’s not sure what would.

Castiel laughs kindly. “You don’t have to be nervous, sweetheart. They’re all very glad you’re here, too.”

Yeah, Dean’s heard about _those_ kinds of packs before. Dean heard Master joke about them to Azazel one night; about how good Dean would look trussed up to the banister, his _‘tight little hole on display and just aching to be used’_. They’ve visited some too—a year or so ago, Master even took a turn with the house omega, tied to a post-type thing and gagged, used every day by the pack and any visitors. Dean hated going there. He hated watching Master with someone else and he hated the idea that that someone could be him, trussed up and used like some kind of animal by anyone who found interest. He doesn’t want that to happen here…

But Castiel doesn’t seem to notice Dean’s squirming and he just keeps smiling, runs his hand lower until his thumb can reach Dean’s bottom lip and stroke it like a feather. Dean mewls before he can stop himself. Castiel drops his hand and chuckles.

“I suppose you’ll be going into heat soon,” he says, fiddling with something on the plate beside them before climbing onto the bed too, sitting cross legged across from Dean with the platter a solid ground in between them. “New pack and all.”

Dean wonders how he feels about that. On one hand, that probably means touching because the alpha of the pack has to knot him for everything to be official and Dean feels pretty okay with that. On the other, that just means everything’s totally _Real_ and he’s officially a member of this new pack, Master will be nothing but a memory. Dean’ll miss him, he thinks. Plus, _he'll actually be a member of this stranger pack._

“Here,” Castiel says and Dean looks up, his eyes narrowing in on the raspberry being held up to his lips. He blinks at the solid food and looks round it at Cas with what he hopes are questioning eyes. “You don’t like raspberries?” the beta asks and begins lowering it, but Dean shakes his head desperately and sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. No, he _loves_ raspberries, very much and he shouldn't be questioning orders, just eat the damn thing. But it’s gone. He whines. “Dean, will you tell me what’s wrong?”

Dean huffs and eyes the beta from beneath his lashes. “She…she said I shouldn’t be eating solid foods.”

Castiel looks amused for a split second before he forces it away with a kind smile. “Jo?” Dean nods. “Well, we _did_ decide soup and broth would be better for your stomach right now, but she said you looked so heartbroken when that was all there was that we decided you deserved something more substantial. Will you eat the raspberry?” Dean nods vigorously. “Good pup.”

It tastes good. As in, really freaking totally awesome and Dean practically croons for another one. This time, though, it’s a strawberry and it’s even better. Holy fuck.

“Dean?” Cas says and Dean looks up with a wide eyed gaze. He tilts his head to the side as an offer to go on. Castiel smiles. “I’m just letting you know, you’re free to ask me anything. I promise you now, whatever you say, you will not be judged or harmed in any way, alright? I understand this must all be confusing to you, and I’m an open book. Ask me anything, I’ll answer as best I can.”

That seems reasonable. Dean can’t find any loopholes in the promise; he could, of course, just be lying, but something in those eyes and that fresh sea scent feel true and honest and the first question comes out in its shy whisper before Dean can even decide what it is.

“Why did you take me away from my pack?”

He regrets it when the Beta looks down and sighs, fingering the blackberry in his hand. Dean regrets it completely when the idea that he can’t have any more comes up and he whines deep in his throat, hopefully portraying his own sorrow. But Castiel looks up with a pained expression and he pops the wonderful thing into Dean’s mouth.

“I understand that that’s how it seems, Dean. Actually, I suppose that’s exactly what it is." He offers a tight smile. "But that pack…Dean, they weren’t nice people. Your master abused you and hurt you because he has a warped idea of how an Omega should really be treated. We needed you to be safe, and that meant taking you away. I’m sorry it was from your home, Dean. But you really are better off here.”

Dean tries another one.

“Why do you care what happens to me?”

Castiel smiles this time. “Because you belong with us. You’re our family now, that’s how we work, we look out for our own.”

“But you didn’t know me before. Why did you pick me up from Master?”

It falters. Another strawberry and a sweet slice of cheese. “Because you were being hurt and we didn’t like that. So we made a deal with Alastair and now here you are.”

This time it’s whispered again, “Why me?”

Castiel offers a grin and a grape, which is possibly the best so far. “Why not you?”

Huh. “What should I call you?”

“Call me Castiel. Call Ellen, Ellen and call Jo, Jo. Everyone has their own name, Dean, that’s usually what they’re addressed by. That’s what it’s for, after all.”

“What about Alpha?”

“Sam or Alpha, whichever, he doesn’t mind either. Although, if you want in his good books, I’d try Sam in general and Alpha when you want something.” The Beta winks.

“Okay,” Dean says. “And you're…”

“Go on, Dean.”

Dean gulps. “You're, uh…Alpha's mate?”

Castiel smiles. “I am, yes. For about five years now, but we’ve known each other for much longer.”

"But you're not related," Master had called him a zeta. The Beta shakes his head. “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty six, Sam’s twenty nine. Jo’s twenty, if you were wondering and Tyler’s six.” He looks beautiful when he grins, Dean decides.

“How did you meet Alpha then?”

A deep breath is drawn and Castiel pops a slice of cheese into his own mouth, chewing lightly before swallowing and handing Dean one of his own. “My brother and I, Gabriel—whom I’m sure you’ll meet later on—belonged to another pack when we were growing up. The Alpha of that pack was not a kind man and he…” Castiel watches Dean with careful eyes and his scent seems to darken an inch before he sighs and continues. “He hurt us. Not just Gabriel and I, but the rest of the pack as well. Sam was still good friends with Gabriel from school despite that being years ago, and the second he caught wind of it, he took us in. We were the first outsiders he ever welcomed, but we weren’t the last. Our alpha’s a good man. The best I’ve ever known, actually.”

Dean gulps and nods quietly. Makes sense, him helping Dean now. Apparently that’s just what he does.

“What did he do to you?” Dean whispers, but it’s only after he says it that he realises that it’s plain fucking rude and if Cas wants to keep it private then he should be able to.

But Castiel chuckles, even if it is a note darker than before. “Well, I did say anything. He never hit me, but Gabriel still has the scars. I was worth more than that, apparently. He did enjoy watching others with me but I assume he got angry one night and decided I was enjoying it too much," he laughs bitterly. "I don't actually remember. All I know is I woke up one day and Gabriel was crying over me because he didn't expect me to wake up. And then the pain came. Apparently it's very possible to pass out from pain and not remember it. Castration without anesthetic hurts, by the way."

Jesus Christ. That fucking sucks, Dean had no idea.

“I’m sorry,” he offers, though he knows how weak that is. Dean can’t even imagine how scary that must have been, being swapped around like that and then waking up and a part of you is missing. And Cas isn’t even an Omega… “But you were a Gamma.”

“It’s fine, Dean. Ironically, Lucifer held his Omega in an extremely high position; he wouldn’t _dream_ about harming Lilith. We were far more disposable.”

Huh. “Is…is that why Alpha wanted an omega? So he can have his own children?” Dean knows he shouldn’t be angry about that; he’s used to being used as such, but for _that_? He’s not sure what to think.

“It may be part of the reason, I don’t know,” Cas says, his brow narrowing slightly in contemplation. “But I can tell you with absolute certainty, it’s not the main one. Sam wants you as part of this pack because he loves you like family and he wants you to be here. It doesn’t matter whether you bare his pups or not, he wants _you_. I promise.”

Dean nods sadly because something awful inside of him disagrees and it’s hard not to listen.

“He’s right, Dean,” comes a familiar voice and Dean’s deep, base Omega churns into existence inside of him – _alphaalphaalphaalpha_ …

Sam enters to the room and shuts the door behind him as gently as he can, offering the two figures on the bed a dimpled smile…did he have dimples before? Something like that, Dean should have noticed. He looks adorable with them—which is dumb because he knows this Alpha’s ruthless, he cut down Alastair like he was nothing.

He sits on the end of the bed, kicks his shoes off onto the floor and manoeuvres himself up the mattress to lie fully along it, his gigantic frame almost reaching both sides. He’s very close and Dean’s just stunned into stillness. He looks over at Cas wide-eyed, who simply smiles back, rolls his eyes and lets himself poll over and land face down on Alpha’s thigh. He scents at the denim.

Well, Dean feels like a third wheel.

“How do you feel, Dean?” Alpha asks, reaching a hand out and stroking the knuckles in a feather-soft touch against Dean’s ribs, all the way down to his bare hip bone. He’s sensitive from the bruises and scarring, but it feels good nonetheless. He wants to nuzzle in, too.

“Okay,” Dean answers quietly, pretty sure he’s given a different reply to every one of those questions, but he’s too busy eyeing Castiel with a dumb jealousy to care.

“I’m pleased, you look better. I’m assuming the needs gone, then?” No. Dean still wants to bury himself inside his alpha’s skin, but it’s not burning like before so he just looks down.

“Mostly.”

“Oh, well, mostly’s not good enough.” He grins again and Dean finds it unusual how light-hearted he is now, so unlike back in the bathroom when he got mad and walked out. But maybe this is _Sam_ and that was _Alpha_. Dean likes both, especially when the hand touching him flattens out somewhat (it’s freaking huge) and nudges along the other side of his ribs, urging him down to lay beside him. Dean crawls out from the sheets altogether because he’s been given an inch and he’s taking a mile, shoves himself flat against Alpha’s side and sticks his nose right into his neck. And inhales. Like yoga.

“Mm, that’s better,” Sam sighs, laying his head back against the pillows and wrapping an arm around Dean’s shoulders, hauling him up tighter. By now, Cas is between Sam’s legs, the Alpha’s thighs bracketing his waist and Castiel’s head is laid happily against his now bare stomach, his hands pushing up Sam’s plaid shirt and tee for better access. Dean understands that; skin is always better than fabric. He’s pathetically jealous.

“Definitely,” Castiel hums his agreement, nudging his nose rhythmically over Sam’s navel, his lips dropping to it every now and then. “How’s the baking going?”

Sam vibrates in a laugh and Dean keens silently in the back of his throat over how good this feels. “Ben’s taken over again, obviously. Kid’s gonna be a gourmet chef by the time Bobby’s done with him, I swear. He’s good though, so I can’t complain.” Sam’s back arches in a stretch and Dean takes the opportunity to pile in closer. Sam’s arm accommodates.

“Definitely,” Cas grins, propping his chin against the seriously toned muscle, smiling up with soulful eyes at the Alpha. His hands make intricate patterns over Sam’s ribs.

“So, how’s our Dean doing?” He asks Cas, his hand jolting Dean towards him softly, twice until Dean just takes it upon himself to balance his head on Sam’s peck. It’s very nice. Very sturdy. And, yeah, he whines, whatever.

“He’s doing very well,” Cas smiles at him, releasing one of his hands from Sam’s body and moving it to Dean’s, stroking calmly along his bare backside. It feels surprisingly nice and he moves into it. “I snuck up some real food when Ellen wasn’t looking, don’t tell her. I think Dean liked it.”

He did and Dean nods, mewling like a pup and closing his eyes for a second, rubbing his ear over Sam’s shirt, growling lowly when he hits a pocket button. He looks down and huffs at the thing. Sam laughs.

“Hey, what’d my shirt ever do to you?” he says, lifting his arm up and away, uplifting Dean when he sits up. Dean’s pretty sure he’s mistaken the good-natured hint to his voice when he does that and he whines an apology, but seconds later Sam’s back down and tucking him in closer. With his shirt off. Oh, _yes_.

Christ, he smells even better without the offending fabric, if that’s even possible. And he feels every part as good as Cas did beside him, naked, now only if he could take the jeans off, everything would be completely perfect. Like the forest in rain, Dean thinks, inhaling deeper, thrusting his entire body closer without any inhibitions because this is his alpha and of all things, he’s allowed to do this. Hopefully. So far, he’s been allowed, so Dean’ll just keep going until he’s told otherwise. Master’d be furious if he thought that way with him, but this isn’t Master. This is Sam, and Sam’s nice.

“Much better,” Castiel hums, nuzzling deep with Dean, his hand roaming and taking ownership of every inch of his left ass-cheek, all the way to half way down his thigh. Dean hitches it closer to get more contact, and if that means it’s looping over Sam’s own, then so be it.

“You feel good, Dean,” Sam mutters in his hair, brushing his lips through the strands. “So good, you know that? I can’t wait until I can look at your face without seeing _him_ all over it.”

Dean blushes. He would change it if he could, take away every mark on his body, but he can’t and he’s left looking like a thriller video reject. He pushes in deeper to hide his darkening face —hell, just to hide his _face_.

“Don’t be ashamed of it, Dean, it’s not your fault,” Cas says, massaging his fingers deeply into Dean’s flesh, neatly avoiding any blemishes. “We just don’t like seeing you hurt, that’s all.”

“Of course,” Sam agrees, kissing the top of his head loudly. “You could be headless and we’d still think you were perfect.”

Weirdly, that does make him feel even slightly better. He still hides though, even if it mostly is just to keep on scenting, but they don’t need to know that.

“Do you feel like you’re coming into heat yet, Dean?” Sam asks.

“I don’t think so,” Dean replies, moving his hips what he hopes is inconspicuously back and forward, into Sam’s hip and back to Castiel’s hand. Honestly, he can’t decide which one’s best.

“That’s okay, don’t worry about it, sweetheart. We’ll make it good for you, I promise.” We? As in him and Cas? Or him and the rest of the pack? “Would you like a bath before dinner, Dean?” That would be nice… Dean nods against his chest. “That’s good beautiful, that’s good. You promise me you’ll always tell me the truth, little pup? Even if you don’t want to or you think I don’t want to hear it, do you promise you’ll never lie?”

“Y-yes, Alpha,” Dean answers. He has to, doesn’t he?

“Good boy. God, Dean, you’re such a good boy, you know that? You’re so fucking beautiful and perfect and we’re all so excited that you’re here with us. You belong here Dean, I hope you understand that.”

Dean doesn’t reply, but he gets up when he’s urged to and he clings tightly to Sam when Sam lifts him up bridal style, places his hands flatly to Sam’s stomach and sides, keeps them there until he’s told to get down in the bathroom. He doesn’t want to, but he does. The tiles are cold and he flinches when his warmed feet have to touch them, but then he’s distracted when Sam pulls down his jeans…and his boxer briefs. Apparently, he’s just huge everywhere.

“Come here, baby,” Sam says, sitting down on the toilet seat and patting his bare lap for Dean. Dean goes like a fish to water. Sam halts him with his warm hands on Dean’s hips, huge and strong and fuck so good and Sam’s eyes rake over his body, the hazel orbs roaming over every mark, but he doesn’t look disgusted, he just looks somewhat amazed.

“Alpha?” Dean tries, aiming for his attention again. When he gets it, the Alpha smiles and tugs Dean up, drawing him in so close, Dean has to actually straddle Sam’s lap to sit on it and now they’re both closer than they’ve ever been and it feels better than it ever has before. Dean pants and wails quietly as he grinds himself closer.

Their chests are mashed as one when Sam says, “Angel? Where are you going?”

“I’m giving you two some well-deserved time,” Castiel says, Dean can hear the smile in his voice. He likes Cas, Dean decides, even if he does feel guilty for clinging on like a limpet to his naked mate, even though it’s not Dean’s fault, he can’t help it. Either way, that can’t be fun to see.

“Cas…”

“Alpha, I’m not mad, don’t be stupid. You haven’t had any time alone with him yet, I think it’s about time you did. Don’t worry, Sam, I’ll come back with dinner. I love you, Alpha.”

“I love you, angel,” Sam says and he reaches up for Cas’ kiss, it’s short and when they pull away, Dean’s given one of his own on the back of his head, two more hands meet Sam’s at his sides, sliding down to Dean’s backside and back up again.

“I’ll see you soon, Dean,” he whispers, and then he’s gone.

It’s strangely terrifying, being left alone with his new alpha. That point is kind of mute when he nuzzles in deeper for comfort, though, so he lets it go.

“Does this feel good, Dean?” Sam asks, his hands dipping to his cheeks, nudging at the crevice there. Dean arches into it.

“Yes, Alpha. It feels…it feels really good.”

A small laugh is huffed into Dean’s ear. “That’s good, little one, I’m pleased. It would be unfortunate for both parties if it didn’t, wouldn’t it?” Dean nods, though he’s not sure why, it just feels like the right thing to do. It makes Alpha happy though, so who cares?

When the bath is full and warm to Alpha’s satisfaction, he gets in first and lowers Dean down onto his lap, a similar position to before with Castiel, but this time, Dean’s literally on top of Sam. He manoeuvres himself until he’s sat sideways and he can slide his ass until it’s on the porcelain, his back against the tub’s side and his legs rested over Sam’s. This way he can reach Sam’s neck easier—he sticks his nose in and scents.

“You’re a smart pup, aren’t you, baby?” Dean just mewls and laps at the skin, hoping he’s not going too far. Sam moans softly beneath it, so he guesses he’s okay. “Will you tell me something Dean? Anything at all about yourself, what you like doing, where you like going? I want to know everything about you, my beautiful Omega.”

Dean thinks for a second. Huh. What does he like?

“I…I’m not sure,” he answers honestly, ducking closer when he feels his cheeks deepen in colour. “Um…yogurt? I think. Master used to let me have some at breakfast if I was good. And strawberries and grapes.”

Sam huffs a laugh in his hair. “What about raspberries?”

“They’re nice too,” Dean supplies quickly, hoping he didn’t offend. “Just…not _as_ nice.”

“Aah, I understand,” Sam says, amused. Dean’s not sure why, but he likes it anyway. “Do you like to read, Dean?”

“Yes,” Dean says, though he hasn’t had much practice. He was only allowed in the library to read if Master was busy, if Dean had been seriously good and if Ruby was in a generous mood. They didn’t happen at the same time very often. “But I’m not very good.”

“That’s okay, you can practice. Maybe when you’re feeling better I can take you down to the library, read to you. Would you like that?”

Dean nods and answers, “Very much so,” because he would. He’d like it very much indeed.

“Good, I’d like it too. What else do you like?”

“I’m not sure…”

“You can tell me, sweetheart, you don’t have to hide it. Tell me anything.”

“I…I like…um…” He really should answer, but to tell the truth, he honestly doesn’t know. Sure, he likes touching, but that’s Omega instinct, it’s a given. He likes being knotted, but again, Omega stuff. He’s never really been allowed to have much else. Maybe another angle… “I don’t like collars.”

Well, that was a dumb thing to say. Fucking idiot…

“Collars? Did Alastair make you wear a collar?” Sam’s voice is tough and hard and he doesn’t like it but he can’t move.

“He was nice though, he only made me wear it if visitors came or if we went anywhere. When…” _Too late now Dean, just ask_. He still flinches when he does. “When do I have to wear one here?”

When Sam’s scent sharpens and his hand halts it’s movements along Dean’s thigh, Dean wants to move—he wants to get away because his body’s sore and he really doesn’t want to be hit again, he doesn’t want more marks, but he can’t. So he nuzzles deeper and offers a low whine from the base of his throat, scents soothingly along Sam’s jawline.

“I’m sorry, Alpha,” he keens, moving and shuffling until he can straddle Sam’s lap, move as close as he can, more slick skin against slick skin, he runs his fingers deftly over Sam’s hard muscles, flexing beneath his touch. “It’s not my place to ask, I know, I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me, I’ll make it better, I won’t ask any more questions, I promise, please…”

Sam’s hands move to cup Dean’s cheeks and he squints his eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable pain…when it doesn’t come, he opens his eyes to Sam’s soft gaze and immediately looks down.

“Sorry…” he starts, Sam moves his head up until he has to look at him properly.

“What did I say about looking at me?”

“…That I can?” Dean tries, because he had, hadn’t he? The other night, he’d said Dean can look into his eyes if he wanted.

“Exactly. Don’t shy away from me, Dean.” Dean looks up into those orbs and he has to force himself to stay there. Nearly ten years of no eye contact, it’s hard to force it. “And as for the collar,” Dean flinches away but the hands keep him there. “You’re not an animal, Dean, you won’t be wearing a collar. You will be dressed like a normal human being because you are, you will wear shoes but you will _not_ wear a collar and you will eat at the table right beside me…on a chair. Anything else?”

“…Do I have to wear a plug?”

And Dean really does scamper out at Sam’s reaction this time.


	3. I Can't Make You Love Me

Sam waits for the Omega to fall asleep before he bothers to move him from the tub. And it’s long minutes later; of Sam watching with adoring eyes as his baby brother tries to keep his open, sandy lashes brushing lower and heavier at his blushed cheeks with every blink, his lips licked slick every twenty seconds by a perfectly pink tongue and the grip of slender little fingers at Sam’s hips loosening until finally—with one concluding, mewled out yawn—the kid loses consciousness and he just goes to breathing a warm rhythm onto Sam’s chest.

Christ, he’s perfect. Sam turns him as gently as he can until he’s sat across his thighs, just like he was a while ago, before scooping his hands securely beneath the slack body and hauling him up and out of the now cool water, keeping him tight and perfect to his chest. The boy barely moves but to stay impossibly close; dipping his nose to the closest crevice he can, snuggling deeper in Sam’s grip and purring under his breath either at the sense of security or the scent of Alpha, Sam’s not sure. Either way, the calm and peace radiating from his Omega’s pores is more than he’s gotten in the last four days, and he revels silently in that fact.

Sam doesn’t take him straight to the bed—though he knows he should given his own clothe-less state. Instead he rocks the teenager softly in his arms, walking the room, lulling him with sweet hushes and whispered words into his ear, stroking a thumb calmly over a naked thigh. He feels absolutely perfect against him, their skin still slick, their breaths matched in perfect unison. Sam could stay here forever.

It’s not the first time he’s bathed Dean.

Back when Sam was about his age and Dean was nothing but a chubby little baby, Mom would ask Sam with tired eyes to wash Dean, play with him for a while in the water, entertain him. Mom was just beginning to get weak on her feet and Dad was away a lot with overtime at work, so the only reason Sam agreed begrudgingly was because he knew even then how bad his mother was getting. He didn’t want to make the stress worse.

Baby Dean was annoying and Sam would never admit it, but he loved the kid the second he laid eyes on him. The second their mom came back from the hospital, already starting to look a little worse for wear—the second Sam caught glimpse of the spit blowing monstrosity snuggled in her arms, he was caught and held for the next sixteen years.

Dean was a well behaved little rugrat. Sam played with him for hours on end in the shallow water, flicking the baby with splashes until he was howling with laughter, until he starting shivering and Sam had to get him out. But he never complained. He just scented his big brother, gripped Sam’s hair in his tiny fists like a vice and squawked happily when he got to sleep in Sam’s bed so as not to wake their mother. Sam never minded, not really. He pretended he did to anyone who asked, Jo or Bobby, but in truth, he revelled the nights Dean got to stay. He always adored protecting and having a real live life held right in his hands for hours was like catnip to him.

 _Total_ shocker when he presented as an alpha then.

By that time, Dean was a nightmare (perfect) toddler and the second he smelt alpha on his big brother he chose every night was bath and Sam’s-room night and every waking moment Sam was in the same vicinity it was Sam snuggle time. And Sam was too young, he’d barely presented so he just figured Dean didn’t understand what he was doing; he just liked the smell and the touch, he did what he enjoyed as most infants do. Now, Sam would probably be able to suss the kid as an Omega. He should have done back then, but he didn’t. Maybe then he wouldn't have lost his baby brother.

It was a school day—Mom was still dead, Dad was still home drinking and Sam was dropping his backpack in the hall, heading for his homework and living, breathing, snuggling security blanket. He’d made it into his bedroom, expected a napping toddler sprawled out on his bed like always but there was no sign of Dean, no scent. He looked everywhere in his room, everywhere in every room, but there was no Dean. There was a drunk father, however, so Sam regretfully went up to him.

“Where’s Dean?” he’d asked, polite as anything because he knew how his father got with the whole Alpha thing. Their family was a lone one; they didn’t belong to any pack because they hated the idea of being ruled—imagine how well that went when Sam presented to his widower of an asshole father.

The old drunken Gamma had just glanced up, glared for a second, chugged down a mouthful of warm whiskey and narrowed his gaze back down to the riveting football game currently muted on their crappy TV.

“You know, you should watch your mouth with me, boy,” he growled, and it was just about then that Sam really began to worry.

“Dad. Where is he?” He didn’t thread Alpha into his voice, not yet. Not until he knew for certain.

“Don’t know why you’re surprised.” His father sniffed. “Not like you were raising him and I sure as hell couldn’t, not by myself. Maybe if you’d stepped up as big bad Alpha, your pup of a brother wouldn’t be halfway out of the state right now.”

Sam had left his life behind on that day with one bag of belongings, a piece of shit father scarred up on the living room floor, no pack, no family and a house torn to shreds from his own claws. And the only thing he’ll ever regret is going to school that day.

Ellen, Bobby and Jo were the first people to join with him, the first people to give him a family and a pack and a home. And Sam, the seventeen year old boy, was their first alpha. And he still couldn’t be more grateful.

Sam blinks off the memories, coughs threateningly at a growing tear and gazes down at his blood, at the thing that started this all and helped him build everything he has now. Dean inspired every single inch of Sam’s life and he doesn’t even know it. He probably won’t for a long time yet but when he does, Sam will make sure it’s good. Sam will make sure his brother is loved and cherished and cared for, for the remainder of his waking days, sans Sam or not. Sam will make him laugh again.

He puts his baby brother down on the bed, above the sheets, and goes back to the bathroom for his pants, slides them on, then dons his t-shirt from the bedroom. Dean’s curled himself up in that time, clinging to his own limbs in a perfect little ball, still in perfect slumber and Sam watches him with amused, surreal-widened eyes for long, happy seconds. It doesn’t feel real but Jesus fuck does it feel right.

Sam sits behind him like he used to all those years ago, tugs the unconscious thing closer and warmer, minding the marred, naked flesh beneath his hands. Dean does the rest of the work and clambers up properly into his lap, shoving his nose straight into Sam’s throat and inhaling so loudly, it’s a miracle he doesn’t wake himself. Sam lets out a chuckle and wraps his arms around his baby boy.

“You’re so perfect, sweetheart,” he says, tugging lightly until the thing’s a tight ball on his thighs, content and somehow relaxed. “I love you, baby. I loved you back then and I love you even more now, Dean, I swear to God. I love you more than anything in this world.” Except maybe Cas. He’s probably on par with Cas.

“Alpha?”

Sam looks up slowly to the short figure in the doorway, unsettled to have his gaze torn from his love, but he softens somewhat when the stance of Ben swims steadily into focus. He offers the recently matured Gamma a smile.

“Ben. You okay?” he asks.

Ben smiles back but keeps hovering, his fingers dancing awkwardly over the wooden doorframe, his eyes darting around the room, consciously avoiding the naked Omega. Sam flicks an eyebrow high onto his forehead.

“Did you want something, kiddo?”

Ben starts and pins his eyes to Sam. “Oh, right, yeah…actually, Ellen asked me to come and tell you that your dinner’s in the oven. It’s ready and everything, she’s just keeping it warm.”

Sam nods and subconsciously pulls Dean tighter.

“Thanks for letting me know. Did you make it?”

Another smile. “I helped. I’m not very good with fish yet.”

“You’ll get better, kiddo. Pretty soon you’ll be taking Bobby’s job.”

The kid Gamma scoffs and widens his eyes comically large, hopping slightly into the room. “Don’t let him hear you say that, I’ll never be allowed back in the kitchen.”

Sam laughs. “You’re right, lips sealed. Will you just grab Jo or Cas, ask ‘em to come watch him,” he nods to the lithe body in his arms. “I don’t really wanna leave him alone, just in case.”

“I can watch him, if you want. I mean I’m sure he’ll stay asleep until his dinner’s ready, and by then Jo will be here. It’s only got about twenty minutes left.”

Sam smiles shortly at the kid. “You sure? He might be kinda freaked out when he first wakes up, if you’re okay with that.” Ben rolls his eyes, scoffs and nods. “Alright, alright, jeese. I keep forgetting you’re all grown up now. You picked your pension plan out yet, Gamma?” The thirteen year old rolls his eyes again, but he’s smiling. Sam hums in amusement and makes his careful way out from under Dean, setting him back on the mattress and tucking the white sheets around him. “Okay, old man, if he does wake up, calm him down if you have to and tell him to stay here, then go get Cas or Jo. Cool?”

Ben nods. “How should I calm him down?”

“Just tell him he’s okay, should be fine. I’ll see you later, okay?” Ben nods when Sam’s standing next to him and the alpha smiles before dropping an extravagant kiss to the kid’s head. He chuckles when Ben grimaces. “You’re a good guy, you know that?”

“Go and eat.” Sam goes with one last look at a heavily sighing, adorable-as-all-hell Dean.

The kitchen’s just about empty now from its usual buzzing throng at dinner time, just Ellen stirring a pan, Jo perched with some magazine on one of the countertops and Bobby playing a hand clapping game with a giggling Maggie with a face on like he’s being tortured. Sam laughs heartily and claps him on the back. He ruffles Maggie’s hair, taps Jo’s swinging shin and places a soft kiss to the top of Ellen’s head.

“Smells good,” he says, walking to the oven and removing the hot plate. “For Dean?”

“Sure is. You think he likes pumpkin?” Ellen says.

“Does anyone?” Jo sings, hopping down and sitting across from Sam at one of the other stools, grinning back at her scowling mother.

“Girl, you’re lucky you ain’t the one this is for ‘cause you wouldn’t be gettin’ any. How’s the food Sam?” Ellen turns from the two pots on the stove and leans back against it, eyeing up the two characters before her.

“Perfect,” Sam says, grinning through his mouthful. “Thank you.”

Jo grimaces. “You know you’re an Alpha _wolf_ , right? I mean, you’re literally _made_ to eat meat, what the hell are you playing around with that crap for?”

“This is meat,” he supplies, pinning another chunk with his fork. “I am eating meat.”

“No, that’s Omega food. You should go up and give it to Dean.” Sam rolls his eyes and grins.

“Well, I like salmon. I’m sure Dean does too.”

“Ah, yes, the infamous Dean. How is the prodigal brother holding up?” Sam turns to the voice behind him with an irritated expression barely hiding his amusement and relief—he’s off the chair and said salmon is ignored in favour of his friend back and alive and safe. He drags Gabriel into a hug.

“Good to see you’re alive. What, they don’t have phones out in the middle of the Rocky’s?” Sam says, releasing him but not fully, still holding a hand to his Gamma’s shoulder.

“Ha ha,” he smirks dully, rolling his eyes.

“Gaby!” is suddenly squawked and Gabe is pulled from Sam’s grasp as the kid flings herself into his arms, crawling like an animal up his body until she can tuck her head securely in his neck. Gabriel strokes a hand over her curled up blonde hair and grimaces exaggeratingly over to Sam, who just grins and offers a thumbs up back. It’s not like he’s gonna buy the whole ‘I can’t be dealing with clingy children’ act the beta’s apparently inherited. Anyone in their right mind can see how much he dotes on his little niece.

“Howdy, Mag’s,” he says, moving away from Sam and hitching Maggie over to his hip with a laboured huff. “Jeese, kiddo, you’re getting way too old for this, you know that? You’re gonna brake Uncle Gabe, yes you are!” he blows a raspberry into the nine-year old's shoulder, earning himself a high-pitched giggle until Sam can distinctly hear a groan from Bobby’s direction. Sam goes back to the salmon with a happy smile. “So, you missed me, huh? Bet Cas was boring you half to death, wasn’t he? Admit it, kiddo, I’m your favourite, aren’t I?”

Maggie grins and beams at the attention she’s been denied for the last three weeks, wrapping her legs solidly around her uncle’s waist. “Cas reads to me, he’s not so bad. How was your trip?”

“Boring.” Gabriel gasps suddenly and looks around in exaggerated suspicion before moving to Maggie’s ear with a stage whisper, “Hey, you met the newbie yet? You ever even _seen_ an Omega before?”

Sam rolls his eyes and Maggie opens her mouth wide to play along. “Ellie in my class says her pack’s got an Omega, but she never gets to see it.” She bounces, suddenly filling the room with her excitement. “Do I get to meet it? Aw, please, Gabe, please let me meet it! Sam, can I meet it?”

“Not an ‘it’, kiddo,” Sam sighs in good humour, moving to deposit his dirty plate in the sink. “Dean’s very much a ‘he’.” He notes Gabe’s smirk and Ellen’s eye roll, but he’s too busy revelling in his own joke to do much about it. He turns back to Maggie, matching Gabe’s earlier ‘suspicious’ eyes. “I dunno, sweetheart, you sure you’re up for it? You’ll have to be a _real_ big girl for Dean, ‘cause he’s not doing too well right now. You think you can do that for him?”

She nods vigorously.

“Well, alright then. Why don’t you go up there now? Ben’s with him, he’s sleeping—just make sure you don’t wake him up, okay? Then you can help Jo give him dinner, how ‘bout that?”

Sam suddenly finds himself attached solidly to a nine year old pup, nuzzling into his shirt. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! Ha, Ellie’s not gonna _believe_ this!”

And then she’s gone.

God, is it possible to love his pack any more?

=*=Ω=*=

Dean wakes up to an incessant prodding in his side and he turns over to face it, opening his eyes wearily. Three boys are stood by the bed, all younger than him—the one poking him ceasing when he notices Dean’s gaze, but he doesn’t back off. Dean frowns, confused.

“Thomas…Sam said he should stay asleep,” one of them says tentatively, the smallest—dark hair, kind eyes—clearly avoiding Dean’s wide eyed gaze. “Tom…”

“Shut up, Ben, _god_. He’s an Omega—they don’t need as much sleep as us, they don’t do anything. Quit being so boring, will you?” It’s the one at the front that says that, the one with his hand still too close to Dean, with hair sweeping over his forehead and small, brown eyes. He narrows them down at Dean. “Why the hell are you looking at me, bitch?” he says, Dean jolts his head to his chest, scampering to sit up in obedience.

“Thomas, seriously,” Ben says, moving forwards slightly, angling closer. He's the only Gamma of the three, he's matured, he should just tell them...“Sam’s gonna be really mad, we’re not supposed to do that, we’re supposed to be good-”

“Jesus, Ben, do you even _have_ your own thoughts? Grow the fuck up already, thought you were supposed to be the mature one?” and Ben shuts up. Thomas steps back too, though he doesn’t stop staring down his nose at Dean. “Gross, he’s naked.” He laughs along with the third boy, Dean flinches. “Get on the floor.” Dean goes, though it’s slow and for the first time since Master’s, he’s scared he’s gonna be hit for that. In general, they don’t seem to be fussed by Dean’s speed of doing things, in fact they all appear worried for his health, urging him to go at his own pace. Not Thomas, apparently. Pain flares and thuds when he lands obediently on his knees, the stance suddenly foreign. He ducks his head.

“Why’s he naked?” the third boy asks, prodding Dean’s knee with the toe of his trainer.

“Why would he need clothes?” Thomas asks casually, standing right in front of Dean with his arms folded across his chest and his legs shoulder width apart, just like Ruby used to when she caught him steeling food… “Alpha’s just gonna fuck him anyway, they’d just get in the way.”

“Oh,” third boy says, his voice unsure and uneven. “He looks hurt.”

“That’s just ‘cause he’s an idiot and he can’t follow rules. It’s not his fault really, Omega’s are too thick to realise when they should, so they need to be punished otherwise they’ll just do it again.” Thomas’ voice is matter-of-fact, as though he knows everything there is to know about him. He’s wrong though, and Dean doesn’t like him. He’s smart enough to know that. “Samandriel used to look worse than this all the time.”

“I bet Alpha won’t hit him, he’s too nice,” the third boy’s voice is softer now, more like his timid scent and he backs off slowly, stepping away from Dean.

“Then Alpha doesn’t know how to keep an omega. And it’s just ‘cause it’s his broth-”

“Thomas! Shut up, you’re not supposed to say that!” Ben says, stepping swiftly into Dean’s view. “Get out, you’re not supposed to be in here anyway.”

“And you are? How come me and Elliot don’t get to see him and you do?” Thomas’ scent drifts into harsh territory and it looms like a thick fog over Dean’s head, reminding him repeatedly how much of a fucking idiot he is, getting comfortable… “What, you think Sam likes you better just because your a Gamma now? Don’t be stupid, Ben, Sam doesn’t care.”

“You’re wrong anyway. Sam cares about all of us, and I was supposed to make sure he was okay, _not_ wake him up. Just leave, Thomas, and I won’t tell Sam.”

Thomas scoffs. “I don’t care if you tell Sam. Good, go tell him—let him know he has no idea how to keep an Omega while you’re at it. It shouldn’t be sleeping in a bed.” Dean knows that. Dean’s always known that, ever since he presented as an Omega, he’s known how worthless he is in society, he knows how useless he is. Thomas is right though. Dean’s just gotten too comfortable. He mewls his apology and Thomas scoffs again. “See? I told you, that’s what he’s made for, that’s what Omega’s do. You’re just a slutty little pet, aren’t you?”

Dean pauses and a hand grips at his hair, yanking his head back on his neck and it’s hard to keep his gaze far enough down to miss out the harsh brown eyes. They’re not kind like Jo’s… Dean nods as much as he can in the grip. His head’s released roughly.

“Disobedient little shit. My alpha would have a field day with you…”

“Tom, what are you doing?” comes a voice, soft and feminine, young and pup-like, similar to the other two. Dean has to hold himself rock still to keep from peaking around three pairs of legs at its source in the doorway.

Ben steps right in front of Dean until Thomas has to step back a few paces, glaring. “Maggie, go and get Jo, will you? Or Cas or someone-”

“God, just shut up Ben!” Thomas yells, and he heaves every single inch of his body weight into his arms, thrusting them to Ben’s chest until he’s falling, tumbling closer and closer until he connects solidly into Dean, tripping over him, kneeing him swiftly and unintentionally in the face, his feet tripping over his hands. Dean wails as quietly as he can at the shift of pain, suddenly sharp and intense at those specific points, the jolt he makes jarring his abused chest and he pushes himself to the side, leaning up against the bed and hugging his limbs tighter because his body’s doing that stupid thing again…

“Shit,” Ben hisses above him, climbing up and off, moving away—light, hurried footsteps move from the room and travel in the distance. “Dean?”

“Jeese, he’s really pathetic, isn’t he?” Thomas says, amused. Dean feels him move closer, though he’s eyes are pinned shut. “Aw, did the little boy stand on your pinkies? Diddum’s.”

“Please…” he gasps, turning into the sheets, crunching up tighter. He shouldn’t have gotten relaxed, it was stupid—“I’m sorry, please don’t…”

“It’s disgusting, isn’t it? If I was an alpha, I’d just lock my omega up and use it when I wanted. I’d definitely keep it gagged, though.”

“Well, thank _fuck_ you’re not,” another male Gamma voice, older, humoured. And Dean can smell Jo…all the way up until soft, familiar hands grapple at him, clutch softly at his arms and body to haul Dean with very little help from him back onto the bed. Dean doesn’t know what he should do…

“You can’t tell me what to do…”

“Well, actually I _can_ , you little shit. But as far as I know, Gammaa’s don’t have any power over _Omegas_ ,” Thomas goes to speak but halts, “ _especially_ not in this pack. I’m sure Sam will be just _thrilled_ to hear about your little encounter with his beloved.”

Thomas grumbles, “Sam doesn’t scare me…”

The other beta scoffs. “No? Wow, you are a big boy, aren’t you…oh, that’s right. You haven’t seen Sam shift yet, have you?” He whistles lowly. “I think you’ll change your mind then, don’t you, Magpie?”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a _coward_ ,” the same little girl says, her voice full of too much vehemence for such a young kid…

“Dean? Hey, you okay, buddy?” Dean opens his eyes to greet Jo, those big brown orbs more comforting than he should ever have let them be. “Ben. What the hell happened?”

Ben moves close to the bed, away from the man with the girl’s hand in his, from Thomas facing him off and Elliot stood red faced beside him. The rooms a concoction of scents and emotions, and it’s making Dean’s head spin.

“Tom pushed me and I stood on him,” Ben says, peering closer. “Is he okay?”

“He will be,” Jo growls, Dean backs off, trembling and flinching. “Why the hell was Thomas in his room?”

“He just came in—I would have gone to get someone, but I didn’t want to leave him alone with Dean.” His voice is timid.

“Right,” Jo huffs and climbs onto the bed, pulling Dean to scent alongside her, stroking a perfect hand through his hair. Dean keens into the wonderful touch, all but tiptoeing in closer but he doesn’t unwind his body in the slightest, just accommodates with the ball that is his limbs. “Better, cutey?” she says. Dean nods into her hip.

_Fucking pathetic little shit, they were all right, he's wrong, a disgrace..._

By the time he tunes back into the conversation of Thomas and the older guy, Tom’s apparently holding back tears and Maggie’s all but grinning. Dean averts his gaze again when Thomas stamps out with a silently sobbing Elliot at his tail and the man turns his sights on Dean and Jo. Dean gulps as he steps forward. He feels Maggie drop onto the foot of the bed and crawl up Dean’s other side, pressing her small, pup body in close to his back, nuzzling her cold nose at the base of his neck. Dean mewls despite himself, despite his wide-eyed surprise.

“Are you okay, omega?” the girl asks, following the path of Dean’s arm all the way down to his hand where it’s buried at his stomach. He lets their fingers link because he knows he should.

He nods out an almost silent, “Yes,” angry at himself for, once again, forgetting everything he knows and seeking out stupid comfort. But he doesn’t pull away. He tells himself it’s because he doesn’t want to hurt the kid’s feelings, but even he knows that’s not the truth.

“So, this is Dean, huh?” the man says, and Dean opens his eyes to see him move in closer and drape an arm over Ben’s shoulders to rest there casually. The Omega blinks, confused.

Jo pats his hair, “Dean, Gabriel, Gabe, Dean.” Dean ducks down again.

“It’s a pleasure, top-of-Dean’s-head, how do you do?” Maggie chuckles at the words behind Dean, into his neck. Gabriel sighs when Dean freezes, but otherwise doesn’t react. “Okay, okay, he’s not ready for jokes yet I get it, quit giving me the evils,” Jo deflates in exasperation and shakes her head. “And hey, what d’you know, the Thomas kid is a psycho.”

“Told you so. But no one believed me did they, nope, you all just said ‘give him some time, he’s had it rough, he's still a pup’, but I knew,” Jo sings, her voice in jest but something in it screams truth and Dean snuggles in closer as reward. He agrees. “Even Dean knew, didn’tcha, Dean?” Dean doesn’t respond beyond purring slightly.

It’s only really now, once everything’s calmed down and the scents have dissipated into something manageable that Dean begins to smell food. And it smells good.

But when his stomach rumbles against both his and Maggie’s hand, he ducks again, pressing his face solidly into Jo’s hip bone, just above the jeans, breathing in the tiny stretch of skin allowed to him there from the brake of tops to pants. He reddens when Maggie giggles.

“I think Dean’s hungry,” she says, stroking her other hand with Jo’s in his hair. “Can I help feed him?”

Dean feels like a pet dog.

“You can help him drink, if you want. If that’s okay with you, kiddo?” Dean nods when he realises Jo’s asking him. Maggie grips him in a full out hug.

“Thank you, Omega,” she says to his cheek, kissing at the bruised skin sweetly and without distaste.

Then Jo’s getting up, moving softly away and Dean moves to follow her with a despondent keen, already reaching out a hand before he catches Gabriel’s eye and draws it swiftly back in. Gabriel, Castiel’s brother? Either way, he should display more resilience in the presence of so many people. He lets Maggie cuddle into him though, but just because he doesn’t want her to be upset with him or whatever. He rolls his eyes at his own ignorant reasoning.

“Hang on, Dean-o, gimme a sec,” Jo says absently, grappling with something before reaching over him with a glass of water to hand to Maggie. She scuffles back to her place on the bed with a plate of something in her hands that’s orange on top of rice and it looks weird but it smells delicious, so he shuffles himself back to sitting beside her and moves away slightly, giving her room to feed him. Maggie lifts the glass to his lip and he drinks what she lets him.

“You, uh…you don’t have to feed me,” Dean tries, even as he starts, he can sense everything wrong with what he’s about to say—they shouldn’t be feeding him at all, he’s done nothing to deserve it, he shouldn’t say anything if they’re willing to anyway… “I can do it myself if you want.” He sighs at his own dumb words.

“Sure, if you think your ribs can handle it. Apparently, they aren’t very pleased with you at the moment.” Dean thinks about it as he looks up at Jo, but then he sighs and glances shyly through his lashes at Gabriel and Ben, still stood watching. He doesn’t want to make an exhibition out of it. Jo smiles. “You heard the man, shove off.” Dean balks. He didn’t say that, that's not what he meant, it’s not… “Calm down, kiddo, I know you didn’t mean that,” Jo whispers in his ear and Dean pushes his head to her neck.

Gabriel huffs. “Well, I see how it is. Come on, Benjamin, I think we can see where we’re not wanted. Nice to meet you, Dean-o, see you around, huh?” Dean nods softly at the grinning Gamma.

“My names not even Benjamin…” and then they’re gone.

“Are you feeling hurt, Omega?” Maggie asks, crawling up closer, onto her knees. “Did he hurt you?”

Dean looks up into gigantic blue eyes that strikingly remind him of Castiel, calm and soft, forgiving and worried. But not pitying. Never pitying.

“I’m okay, thank you,” he says, gripping at the gaze.

Dean looks down when he feels small fingers nudge at his own, gliding like feathers over the scabbed up skin of his knuckles, skating towards his abused, trampled on fingers. She never applies more pressure than a minute touch and it never hurts for a second, but for some reason, Dean feels everything like an electric pulse tracing through him. She’s an unusual little thing.

“Does this hurt?” she whispers, capturing his eyes again.

Dean shakes his head and gulps. “Not…not right now. But sometimes.”

Maggie nods knowingly. “Where does it hurt most?”

“I…” he blinks and thinks logically, sorting out the different pains. “My ribs. But it’s not so bad right now…”

Feather-like fingers trace to his torso, skirting over the bare flesh, letting up completely when they move across angry bruises. Dean doesn’t stop gazing into those deep ocean eyes…how are they so alike, it’s crazy…

“Can I ask you how it happened? The bruises on your ribs, I mean…” Those eyes dance guiltily up at Jo but then they’re back again, crinkling with a smile. “You don’t have to tell me or anything.”

Dean shouldn’t. It’s not a tale fit for a little girl, but she asked him to and he should obey. He gulps and offers the PG-13 version. “I dropped my alpha’s coffee and it went all over his carpet. So he…um, he…” He can’t say it, apparently. He frowns at himself. _He threw me down the stairs_ , is what he should say, but the words just don’t come out.

“You probably wouldn’t want to know anyway, sweetie,” comes a voice and much to Dean’s relief the girl’s worried frown lifts to a grin and she swings her gaze over to the door.

“Cas!” she says, bouncing lightly where she sits. “Sam said I could come meet the Omega, come sit down, you can’t tell me off ‘cause Alpha said I could do it…”

Cas laughs like sleigh bells and moves into the room, coming to sit at the foot of the bed. “It’s okay, Mag’s, I wasn’t going to tell you off. What have you been talking about?”

Dean likes him being close but he loves him being closer. He wants to mewl for him, but he keeps it in check because that would be ungrateful and Jo’s the one with the food.

“He was telling me where it hurt and-”

“Guys, I’m all for nice little pow-wow’s but Dean here’s got dinner to eat and it’s seconds away from being disgustingly cold, so…” Jo waves a fork around.

“I apologise, Jo,” Castiel says, lifting his hands in a placating gesture, smiling and winking over at Dean. “Carry on.” He’s wearing a dark shirt today, almost black but mostly blue and his jeans are dark too, black boots at the bottom where he’s propped one leg onto the mattress. Even in such dark attire, he’s still so bright and vibrant and beautiful; even with that nest of black hair atop his head, those eyes pierce desperately from his tanned features and stroke Dean into calmness. Less than a week, and he’s already feeling calm from a pair of fucking _eyes_ …

“Dean?” Jo says, lifting a forkful of something to Dean’s mouth, waiting for it to open, to feed him. Dean doesn’t mind Cas being here; so far in this room everyone’s hand fed him something, even if one was just water. Dean allows entry and coos happily at the rich taste dancing his tongue. He reaches for another.

Between about every five spoonful’s, Maggie glares over at Jo and holds the glass in the way, obscuring the food’s path to Dean’s mouth so he can have a drink of water. Everyone smiles lightly at her.

About two thirds of the way into the plate, Dean feels his stomach tighten and the progressive heaviness building inside becomes too much and he doesn’t want another bite. His body turns his head disobediently when the fork comes again. Everyone stares.

“Sorry…” he says, glancing at all the wide faces. “I just…I can’t eat…” Selfish little shit he is, _can’t eat_. They’re feeding him, now he’s asking them to stop…but he’ll be sick. Eat and puke or refuse and probably never be fed again. Both have decent punishments…

“You’re full?” Jo says, glancing warily to Cas and back again. Dean nods with burning cheeks and a disgruntled scowl at himself. _Idiotidiotidiot_. Great, now he wants to cry…

“You sure, Dean?” Cas says, scooting closer, reaching over Jo and softly touching his foot beneath the sheet. Dean frowns sadly over to him and nods. “It wasn’t that large a helping, Dean, are you sure you feel okay?” Dean nods again but the beta doesn’t seem satiated. His hand just moves up. “It’s not a problem if you are just full, Dean, and I want you to tell me the truth. Is there another reason you’re not eating?”

Dean feels himself start to tremble and he’s not entirely sure why. He just shrinks as small as he can where he’s sitting and gulps, looking up through slightly damp lashes at the ocean-scented Gamma.

“I’m…I’m full,” he says, his voice weak. _Pussy_. “Sorry, I just…”

“No, no, it’s okay, Dean, that’s fine, sweetheart, as long as that’s all it is. You would tell me if it was something else, wouldn’t you?” Dean nods eagerly. “Okay, pup, that’s okay," Castiel smiles in reassurance as Jo puts the empty plate and glass over on the nightstand, returning her now free hand to Dean’s scalp. “Your stomach needs time to grow again after so little sustenance. Would you like anything else, Dean? Honestly?”

Dean shakes his head in truth, but mostly because he doesn’t let himself think on it.

“That’s fine, good boy. Are you tired, little pup?” Dean nods begrudgingly. “That’s okay, sweetheart, that’s great. I hear your nap was interrupted at any case.” His voice darkens a fraction towards the last part and Dean bows into the fingers on his hair, the small hands softly running the length of his arm.

“Yeah, Gabe made him cry!” Maggie squawks, suddenly all cheerful again. “It was awesome!”

Cas rolls his eyes, but it’s in good humour. “I’m sure your uncle did.”

Uncle. And Gabriel is Cas’ brother, so he must be Maggie’s uncle too…she has to be. It’s either that or her father but…no. Cas is Alpha's Beta and obviously they can't have kids. Plus Maggie called him Cas, so he can’t be her father. Dean huffs an unreasonable sigh of relief at his own logistics. It just makes everything a hell of a lot easier if the Alpha he’s going to mate with and his Beta don’t have kids of their own. It’s selfish. Right…Cas said he couldn’t have children, didn’t he? Well, now Dean feels guilty.

Jo laughs. “You okay there, chuckles?” she says, gently poking Dean’s head. “That’s some party you got going on there,” she keeps prodding at his skull, presumably meaning his brain. Dean shrinks.

“Maggie, sweetie, will you help Jo take these down for us, please? Say goodnight to Dean.” Cas waves softly in his direction.

Maggie nods and crawls closer. “Night, Omega-Dean,” she says, dropping her lips softly to his own, pressing them there for bare seconds before drawing off and patting his shoulder lightly. “Sleep tight. I hope you don’t hurt anymore.” And then she’s off, moving round the bed to grab the empty glass and head for the door.

“What, don’t I get one?” Cas says, smiling, obscuring her path with an outstretched hand. The little pup beams and leaps into her uncle’s arms, nestling her head to the crook of his neck and scenting heavily along it, wrapping her own arms around his neck. Castiel lays a loud kiss to her cheek.

“Night, Uncle Cas,” she says, stepping down and away.

“Night, Dean-o,” Jo says, mockingly placing a wet kiss to Dean’s cheek with a ruffle of his hair and a wink, before moving over to Cas and opening her arms wide. “Goodnight, sweet Castiel,” she drawls jokingly, drawing him into a huge hug that he just rolls his eyes at and then pats quickly at her back, returning her smile when she pulls away.

“Goodnight, Jo. Maggie, I’ll see you before school tomorrow, okay?” Maggie nods from the door. “Alright. Goodnight, sweet girl.”

And then they leave. Dean looks up to Cas with expectancy he shouldn’t have, but to hell with it. He wants someone to nuzzle, otherwise he can’t fall asleep, especially in a new place and especially with the Alpha pull beginning to blaze in his chest again. He remembers all too well when he used to travel with Master—he’d be so tired he wouldn’t react properly or he’d forget something important and Master wouldn’t, Master would remember with clear clarity and so would Master’s fist; in and on him.

Cas is moving then, lifting up from the mattress and dragging the dark shirt up and over his head, revealing the familiar stretch of perfect skin and muscle, two pert…a tattoo. Did he always have a tattoo? Dean doesn’t remember one from the bath, he probably would have—but the pentagram design looks decently faded, it can’t be recent. He was probably just too raptured by the flesh holding it…

Cas sees him looking at the thing half way through removing his boots. “It’s the Winchester pack symbol. A lot of us have either a tattoo or jewellery of some kind displaying it. Would you like one?” Dean notes the grin, so he doesn’t worry too much. “You're a part of this pack now, maybe you’d like a necklace. Or a cuff, or something?”

Dean shrugs because he doesn’t know how to answer. Cas smiles again, tugging down his pants. Right, no balls—was being deadly serious then. Jesus. “That’s alright, sweetheart. Think on it, though, let me know. Maybe it can be your Christmas present.” Figure of speech. Omegas aren’t involved in Christmas, not since they fucked so much up in the bible. Dean doesn’t mind, though, he’s used to it by now. He can’t say the same for his nine year old self though.

Cas lifts up the corner of the duvet and shuffles himself in, moving closer and tighter until he’s all but consuming Dean’s back, wrapping himself tightly to the skin and tugging him like a teddy bear to his perfect, inked chest. Dean mewls outright in the pleasure of it all.

“Are you tired now, little pup? Or would you like to talk for a little while?”

The sun’s not even nearly down yet, and although it’s summer, it’s still pretty early to be sleeping. Plus, Dean likes the sound of Cas’ gravelly voice.

“Can we talk? Please.”

Cas smiles against his neck. “Of course, sweetheart. Would you like to ask me some more questions?” Dean nods. “Go on then.”

Right. Now he needs a question. “What’s it like? Um, shifting, I mean.”

Cas sighs a warm breath along his skin, hooks a leg over Dean. “Huh. I don’t know how to explain it, really. It’s kind of like…a tingling, maybe? It doesn’t hurt or anything, it’s just a tingling and then a huge pressure for a split second and then it _is_. It’s good to just shift and be free for a while, I enjoy the running, though I know people aren’t fans. I think it’s the whole four legged thing that puts them off.”

Dean hums. “I think I’d enjoy it, if I could.” Another thing omegas are useless for. They can’t even freaking _shift_.

Castiel smiles again. “I think you’d be a beautiful little wolf. I’m told I’m quite ominous in my other form, actually. I’m not big—not like Alpha, but the black fur is a turn off. I tend to scare pups.”

Dean huffs a tiny, stupid, _laugh_ like noise before clamping a stopper on it, embarrassed. Cas pulls him close again. “Don’t ever stop laughing, Dean," he whispers, just for them. "Don’t hold back, sweetheart.” The humour’s gone now, anyway.

“Is Maggie your niece?”

“Mhmm. Mine and Gabriel’s sister, Anna, died before she could leave the pack, but Sam managed to save Maggie before she grew too old and started learning their ways. She’s been with us a while now.”

Dean nods. “I’m sorry about your sister.”

“Don’t be, Dean, it’s not your fault.” He sighs. “Things like that just happen, I guess.” He pauses and his breath is held for long seconds as he thinks something through, before saying tentatively, “Have you ever lost anyone, Dean?”

Dean frowns and thinks. “I’m not sure. Sometimes I think maybe that’s the reason I was put into the home in the first place, because my first family all died…” Castiel stiffens, but blows a cool breath to Dean’s neck to continue. “And at the home people came and went all the time, I don’t remember anyone dying, though. I just…I don’t think so, I mean.”

“If you don’t mind my asking…” Dean urges him to go on. “How did you come about being at Alastair’s?”

Dean sniffs absently. “He took me from the home when I went into heat at seven because they couldn’t keep omegas there. It wasn’t fair on everyone else; I was lucky Master bought me, otherwise I’d have been chucked to the streets.”

Castiel sucks in a huge sigh and lets it out in a cool line to Dean’s throat. “And that's what he told you?” Dean nods. “Can I tell you something, Dean? I don’t want to upset you, I’m just telling you the truth, I promise.” Another nod. “They wouldn’t have chucked you to the street, little one. The vast majority of care homes around the US would have held you comfortably until they could find you a good home, you would have been top of the list. Your Master procured you because he had money, nothing more. They want you safe, you were just unlucky. Do you believe me, sweetheart?”

Dean sighs. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. Every Omega he’s ever met before have either been collared or chained up like a pet, used and abused because they were worth nothing. They are worth nothing. Dean can’t imagine their Master’s would have gotten away with such treatment if they were considered so precious. It doesn’t make sense to Dean.

Hands massage his full stomach. “That’s alright, little one. But I promise you will. You’ll see the truth, beautiful pup, don’t you worry.” The gentle fingers roam all over the front of his torso, tracing lightly at his ribs, scratching blunt nails over his chest and stomach. Cas moves to talk into his ear and his hand pauses along his just-slightly extended belly. “I like to feel you full, baby. It lets me know you’re not starving or harmed or in pain. I like to know you’ve had too much food and not too little.” Dean croons happily. “I love how perfect you are.” Soft, damp lips meet his cheek, trailing his neck, his shoulder. Dean purrs. “I love you.”

 _He doesn’t even know you_ …But Dean punches that thought square in the face and rocks back deeper in Cas’ hold, deeper to his perfect body.

“Goodnight, beautiful. Sleep tight.”

“Goodnight, Castiel.” And he drifts to sleep like a feather, swaying gently in the prefect hold of the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so everyone knows, Thomas will definitely be reprimanded in some way for being a jackass. The reason he is that way is because he's been brought up like it - they had an omega in his previous pack and they treated him horribly, so he believes that's how they should always be treated, the it is a view by few people even if Dean doesn't know that yet.


	4. Brother Under The Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter track is officially Brother Under The Sun by Bryan Adams, ugh it's perfect :)...or would be, you know, if they were horses.

When Dean finally wakes up, it’s to shouting.

His eyes slam open on instinct—Castiel’s gone and the room’s completely empty, the bed cold and distant, and the angry growls, whimpers and shouts wheedling menacingly through the walls has Dean sitting to attention like a soldier on parade. He’s stock still as he cranes to hear the words, but they’re muffled through the bricks and wood and he can’t make out anything.

They’re furious, he can tell that much. A loud, deep voice overpowers every other sound, drowning it out like a deadly siren Dean would be cowering under if it was directed at him. A shriller voice is an undercurrent, either younger or just higher in pitch, shouting back in between, crying maybe—but the loud bass just washes over it again, and it shuts up. After an even longer while in between, the only calm voice in the equation pipes up, tender and controlled, almost hushing the harsh voice beneath it, until the growls come and it too becomes silent.

Dean would huddle; burrow himself in the safe, warm sheets and hide until the shouting goes away, until Castiel or Alpha or Ellen or Jo comes up, laughs about a silly argument someone else had, strokes him, coaxing him, sings to him or feeds him.

But Dean’s stock still and he doesn’t hide. He wants to, his brain’s telling him that he seriously should if he doesn’t want to get hurt, but his body’s taking over again, keeping him upright and facing the open door. Because somewhere, some buried, terrified part of him knows that the furious, deep voice is alpha and the calming drone is Castiel. And he would bet anything on the sobbing emitting through the walls is from none other than the pup, the one that hurt him and teased him.

Dean should let Alpha and Castiel handle this, he absolutely knows that, but his body’s fighting with the idea that he should just _leave_ them to it. He knows the ignorance getting involved would display, the pitiful, useless side he would show to possibly the whole pack, but he physically can’t help it and he’s crawling from the bed before he can really decide.

He goes silently, tiptoeing naked across the room, letting the noise lead him towards the door to cross paths with Castiel’s still discarded shirt. Dean pauses for a second to pick it up, but he shimmies into it on his way to the door. He’s buttoning it by the time he crosses the threshold with a shaky breath, stubborn with his footsteps as he crosses the line of gold alone the doorway, cold on his still sore feet. If he let himself really feel it, his whole body is sore, some of it utterly painful, but getting to his angry Alpha and frustrated Beta is the only thing Dean cares about. So he pushes on.

He roams this floor for a little while, navigating until he finds the stairs to the left of his room, behind another wall and he floats down them as slowly as he can allow himself, the shouts growing louder and louder in volume—angered, worried, cutthroat scents digging into his nose. He huffs silently to himself but forces his aching body down, descending them one at a time until finally—with the undwindling argument only bare metres away—he reaches the last, cream carpeted step.

Dean sucks in one giant breath before inching closer and closer, taking minutes to steady himself and his trembling frame with his hands running the length of the champagne coloured wall. He walks past a few doors, he looks into what must be a huge dining room, but he doesn’t pay much attention because by now he can see the crowd of Gammas. Every single one with their backs to him, all strangers, but luckily they’re scattered loosely near Dean and when he gets close enough he can see his Alpha clearly. He stops dead in his tracks when he does.

The over-six foot man is physically fuming, his scent a heavy, foreboding cloud over all their heads, pushing and terrifying, Dean’s learned instincts urging him to kneel on the floor where his Alpha can see him and bare his throat for Sam, whine and whimper until he’s got attention and Sam can get his frustrations out on him.

But he doesn’t do that.

Instead, he walks in closer, close enough to get a broader scope and see Castiel tugging at Alpha’s arm, Thomas stood even more shakily than Dean, facing off the enraged beast—his hands are clenched though, his eyes are narrowed, swimming in tears that he doesn’t let shed, but they’re dark, violent. He snaps something at Sam and before Dean can register much else, the boy’s shifting into a dark grey wolf, growling on his haunches until Dean and everyone else gasps in horror at the threat.

He can’t do that, even Dean knows. Challenging an Alpha like that, _especially_ in his own pack home is just…not done. No one ever dared with Master, they’d be dead before their paws hit the ground and Master would have every right to do it, he’s protecting his own…

Dean watches with baited breath as Sam takes in the challenge, almost recoiling at the bare cheek of the threat, hissing in raw anger before Castiel’s fast paced, calming words just completely roll over him and he pushes his mate off in favour of growling in perfect imagery of his wolf at the stupid little boy, still just a pup, there’s nothing he could do against an alpha wolf, it’s ludicrous…

And the second Sam shifts into an unnaturally huge, chestnut coloured beast, the second a howl rips its way from his throat and surprised, scared hisses erupt the circle of onlookers, Dean stumbles closer through the thick haze of fear and trips into the inside circle, turning every gaze but the one he needs most –

“Alpha,” he says, just loud enough for the heavy wolf’s head to turn, his ears to prick up and the growl to lift from his lips—he takes on an almost curious expression, even in his were form. Dean almost balks at the outright ignorance of all he’s ever been taught by his Master, the total disobedience, but something seems to click inside of him for willingly obeying his body for once.

And when Alpha keens and paws lightly at the ground in a worried gesture, Dean offers a tiny nod through his horror, hoping it means more than his fearful scent. He toes closer to the beast, now just basely scared of the sheer size of Sam; the head that reaches Dean’s sternum, the paws bigger than his own hands. His legs shake as he advances, conscious of the attention but ignoring it best he can to get to his Alpha, the scent stronger in his wolf form, Dean’s inner being rolling over and displaying its belly for the chance to just get closer.

Dean drops to the floor when a black shape leaps towards him from Sam’s side, landing heavily on his knees and staying as close to the ground as he can get, his voice leaving him in heavy keens, his eyes watering with tears he shouldn’t let out. But the black wolf charges straight over him in the air; Dean hears a high-pitched whine, a growl and a body hit another to his back, but he doesn’t dare open his eyes to look. He’s bitterly aware of prying eyes now, he understands that was Castiel and he knows he involved himself where he shouldn’t, he’s going to be killed for this  _stupididiot_  he should have just stayed where he was, back where he was supposed to be…

Dean hears heavy claws hit the hardwood floor beside his head of a wolf in a trot, a long snout nudge at his ribs and he hisses at the sharp pain, but doesn’t move. The chestnut wolf moves on quickly though, Dean doesn’t look, he hears whimpers, snarling and angry scuffling which continues for a few minutes before one final, pained yelp sounds and the movement halts, leaving behind a dark silence.

A howl, long and loud in the grand hall of the house takes over everything and Dean can hear shifting around him, shredded clothes hitting the floor as wolves drop to their four legs. They all join in until it drops to a growl, vibrating the whole room until Dean’s heart beats double, both echoing tightly in his ears as they expel the threat altogether, moving dangerously forward until more claws sound, moving next to and then past Dean. One wolf snaps viciously at its ankles and it yelps, running faster and faster until Dean glances up quickly to see Thomas break through the wolf sized door in the actual front door, panting as he goes.

Dean doesn’t hide his face to the wolves again because he knows he’s in danger, he should be ripped limb from limb for his disobedience by all of them—so he clambers awkwardly to sit on his knees, his hands still balanced on the dark oak beneath him, and he tilts his head to show off his neck, letting the dark shirt drop to reveal a sharp shoulder, keening obediently in the back of his throat to show his compliance.

He waits for the first attack.

The growling’s stopped by now, but they’re all staring, standing in the same defence. He whines louder in pitiful hope for mercy, maybe from Alpha or Castiel—the glimpse he got of the pale Jo and dark furred Ellen. When no one moves but to fidget on their paws, Dean knows he’s in real danger. So he ducks lower, the noise coming from higher in his throat, like a pup sorry for stealing a cookie—but it’s not good enough because he just caused a wolf to be excluded from the pack.

He deserves whatever they’re going to give him.

And it’s only a few, long minutes later, once the first, petrified tear hits the space between his thighs, just in front of his hand, does he hear the movement of a wolf walking from behind.

He bows forward instead, presenting the back of his neck as an offering. When the wet muzzle comes into contact with his flesh, Dean whines, feels his face crumple in agonizing fear—when the tongue licks at the spot behind his ear, he sobs. It snuffles into his hair, standing it up in disarray, circling until a coat of sleek black fur comes into view and piercing blue eyes are positioned right in front of Dean’s, cocked in a strange display of curiosity.

Dean knows Castiel’s seconds away from ripping his face off, but the beta doesn’t look threatening in his stance, he doesn’t smell like he wants to kill. And when he licks a long, wet stripe up Dean’s face, something in Dean gives slightly.

The next sob that racks his tender body is one more of suspicious relief other than anything else. Castiel shoves his nose quickly into Dean’s collar, snuffling loudly at the fabric along his throat, leaving damp huffs of breath over the skin until it tickles and Dean has to pull away slightly. But he buries his hands in Castiel’s thick mane and shoves his own clammy face into it. Castiel whines deep in his throat, satiated.

Dean jumps out of his skin when another whine sounds, from behind him this time, echoing out of Alpha’s huge body, worry and anger and resentment all chocked into one, desperate keen. Dean doesn’t turn around but he huffs back.

Claws click the floor until Dean can feel thick breath ruffle his hair over the top of his head, the Alpha huge above him. Dean’s heart races like a jackrabbit again and he leans tighter into Castiel, pulling the Beta wolf as close to him as he can, ducking beneath his head.

Alpha huffs loudly at that, Dean tenses his shoulders but the wolf ducks in anyway and nuzzles almost harshly in desperation at Dean’s neck, down the back of his collar, over Castiel’s own muzzle and along Dean’s jawline. He yips directly in Dean’s ear and sits up right behind him, his whole furry chest pressed tight to Dean’s back, his paws between Deans’ splayed feet and flank on the ground. Dean sighs back at him.

Dean jolts again when someone in the crowd howls—even though it is relatively quiet—and both Castiel and Sam press in impossibly tight, huffing at any bare skin they can find up until Sam actually nips in agitation at Castiel’s borrowed shirt collar. Dean turns his face slightly to let a wet nose poke at him, a long pink tongue lick lightly at his cheek.

Dean ducks again when Castiel joins in the now chorus of howls, clutching him tighter and nuzzling into the black mane at his throat, leaning his body into the vibrating chest of the alpha behind him, finally joining in, lifting his head to the ceiling with the others. It’s loud and still kind of scary, but it’s not threatening, not anymore. It seems kind of warm and nice, protective, even. Then again, Dean can’t really use that word; he’s never felt it before, he can’t be sure what it really feels like. But either way, he does feel nice. He doesn’t know why they’re all being nice after his foolish actions, but he won’t complain. He’ll never complain.

They stop after a few more minutes, the last being Alpha, carrying the haunting tune for about ten seconds more in what Dean might assume as thanks, before cutting it off and standing up, backing his body away from Dean, but keeping his head to him. Castiel does the same, nipping his jaws at Dean’s shirt sleeve, tugging it up in clear code to stand up for him, Sam’s sheathed teeth at his collar.

Dean goes slowly with two strong snouts balancing him up, both keening when he hisses at a twinge in his side. When he’s fully stood, the black wolf nudges at one outstretched hand, licking at it and nudging his head in an opposite direction to the one Dean first came in, bucking and trotting on the spot to show the way. Dean moves when the huge head of a chestnut coloured, alpha wolf connects gently with the middle of his spine and urges him forward, almost patting gently at Dean’s back.

It’s a slow walk; Dean’s worried about the line of wolves in the way, but each and every one moves obediently out of their path and Dean ducks his head as thanks, biting his lip, unsure. They make it past them safely, until one of the smaller, lighter brown wolves at the end seems to grab Sam’s attention and he growls at it, his hackles rising as he snarls his muzzle up.

The smaller wolf whines and lowers his belly to the ground, his eyes to the floor until Sam seems to satiate and huff at him, moving on and ignoring the Gammaa wolf. Dean scents him as subtly as he can, the smell he recognises, but…Ben. This is all because of Dean, then, Alpha’s anger, Thomas’ expulsion. He knew that really, but Ben didn’t do anything, Ben tried to help him, it wasn’t his fault…but then again, Thomas didn’t do anything wrong either. Maybe this isn’t because of Dean at all, maybe this is something else entirely—something he shouldn’t have stuck his nose into. The thought makes him blush, until Sam’s large head butts at his hand again, nuzzles slightly under his shirt. When Dean looks down at him, his brow’s narrowed as much as it can be as a wolf, he huffs and shakes his head until Dean winces and nods too, understanding.

The wolves lead him to a huge wall made of glass, looking out onto a lush, park sized garden, apple trees dotted in a neat procession, a kid’s playing ground in one corner. He opens a sliding door obediently and steps out when they urge him to, the sweet, summer sun warming him instantly, until they move off the patio stones and hit the grass and Dean whines without his own consent. Sam butts at him again and Castiel nudges his hand, licking at the tender, bruised fingers.

It’s only once they’ve moved over to a particularly large tree, nestled themselves into a very satisfying bundle of limbs on the candy-like ground, does Dean notice the others. Throngs of wolves, the whole pack, maybe, disperse from the glass doors and come to sit down near them, all as close as they can get, all facing them with ruler straight spines. Dean ducks his head to Castiel’s back to hide his face, his cheeks heating beneath the attention, but Sam keens and paws at his thigh, licking at the bare skin there.

Dean’s not really sure what he’s supposed to do, but when he moves back up because he guesses that’s what Sam wants of him, there’s a wolf stood there with eerily familiar eyes and a golden coat, like an overgrown dog. He yips at Dean, his tail wagging playfully, brushing his fur and the grass in its wake. Apparently he’s waiting for something, Dean just doesn’t know what.

Right now, he’d like a person to talk to. He doesn’t understand and it’s frustrating. He looks down to Sam.

The Alpha’s peering up at him with a cocked head, until he seems to decide something and he nudges at the laying Castiel, nipping softly at his legs. Castiel peers up and tilts his head back, before they both apparently agree and move in to Dean.

Sam takes the hem of Dean’s shirt in his jaws, tugging it up his tender body until it halts somewhere along his neck; Dean tries to help as much as he can, but his arms ache and when he moves like that, his ribs freaking kill, so he just goes slack when Castiel joins in. Between the two of them - one at the collar, the other tugging over the head - the shirt’s removed from Dean’s body and tucked neatly over his bare crotch. The two lay down beside him again, flanking him, but Dean stays upright. He looks back to the golden wolf.

Gabriel – the scent hits him – moves forward, panting playfully, lowering the front half of his body to the floor, play dodging as though Dean’s going to throw him a ball and play fetch. Sam huffs at him, so Gabriel bounds forward in the end to lick a long, soggy stripe from Dean’s collar bone to his hairline, sticking the dark sandy hair upright which Dean can’t plaster down again. He nips Castiel on his way past.

Jo (Dean recognises the change) advances next, trotting up primly and sticking her sharp snout into Dean’s throat, scenting along it before giving his jaw a quick lick and moving off.

After a few more unknown wolves, Dean figures this is an initiation ceremony of some kind—the wolves having to scent along his throat for some reason or another. For trust, maybe? They’re close enough to kill, but they don’t, maybe they’re showing him that they won’t. Maybe they’re just trying to comfort him or comfort Alpha, draw his trust, too.

Dean doesn’t know but it’s not bad so he doesn’t think too much of it.

Throughout most of the wolves, both Sam and Cas remain unchanged, almost bored beside him. But when Ben steps forward, his tail caught timidly between his legs, his head lowered, his body dropped, Sam lifts his head from his paws and stares him down. Dean can feel him rumble in a growl and Castiel lifts too, nudging comfortingly at Dean with one eye close to his mate.

After a second of growling, Ben steps closer, inching his way towards Dean’s throat until he nuzzles there for a quick second, stepping back for Sam again and lowering his head. Sam huffs and the Gamma steps to him, tilting their heads together without a reaction from Sam until the Alpha almost sighs before butting his muzzle to Ben’s and licking along his eyes. Ben trots away with his tail up in the air, his scent lighter than before.

But when the next wolf steps closer, young like Ben, paler fur—Sam actually stands and vibrates with anger, his head lowered threateningly and his whole snout lifted in a snarl. Dean flinches away from the anger and into Cas’ offered neck, burying his face there, waiting for Sam to seriously cool off before going back to him. It doesn’t take the omega long to figure out that the pup lying on the floor, keening for forgiveness is Elliot. So this is about Dean? Christ, this is too much for one measly morning.

They growl and cry for a few more seconds, some kind of wolf communication Dean couldn’t understand passing between them until Sam yelps harshly and Elliot stands again, leaning into Dean’s arched neck when he offers it, licking smoothly at the skin there. He walks away with his body close to the ground, his tail along his stomach.

By the end of about thirty wolves’ altogether, Dean’s left with his hair all over the place and a seriously sticky collarbone, neck and cheek. Maggie (apparently skipping school for the day) licks a soft stripe over his ribs at one point, her tongue soft and warm along the broken skin, her paws in his lap for the reach. Dean pets under her muzzle in thanks and offers her a short smile.

They run for a while, some of them, the pups playing tag or catch or some other game, some of the elders just lying and relaxing in the grass. Ellen, Jo, Gabriel, Ben and another, older wolf Dean doesn’t recognise are the only ones that stay close, within inches of the three’s lying form. Dean lays down at Castiel’s chest like he always does back in the bed, Sam stretched out along his front. Dean’s hand has apparently taken to stroking shortly across his ribs, stroking out the feather soft fur there, earning himself a warning yip when he goes the wrong way.

The sun’s high in the sky and Dean’s pretty sure Alpha’s asleep when he mutters, “I’m sorry I interrupted.”

Sam’s clearly not asleep because he’s upright instantly, his face inches from Dean’s and he huffs out there, licking neatly at Dean’s cheek. He looks over to Castiel, whose head is up—Dean can feel the stretch along his chest—they both have a silent conversation again before the fur along Dean’s back turns to naked skin and paws near his head shift into hands pulling him closer, tighter against his bare chest. He pulls the shirt over both their naked hips, but the nose in Dean’s neck is perfectly similar. He shuffles into the grip of Castiel, happy to have someone to talk to again.

“Why are you sorry, little one?” he asks, his deep voice genuinely inquisitive. He strokes along Sam’s snout and earns a quick lick, before the Alpha rolls over fully and stares straight into Dean’s eyes, baring his stomach. Dean instantly pats along the stretch of fur.

The omega sighs silently. “I shouldn’t have left the room, it wasn’t my place to, I’m sorry for…interrupting. I made you exile him, didn’t I?”

Castiel breathes a cool breath along the top of Dean’s spine. Sam butts him playfully. “We would have preferred you staying upstairs, of course,” Dean sinks his face into Sam’s fur, but Castiel pulls him back. “But, only because we wanted you completely out of harm’s way. You know why we expelled him?” Dean gulps and shakes his head. “He was leaping for you. Sam was preoccupied tending to you, and the boy thought he saw a decent opportunity, he saw red and he tried to hurt you. I got there first, obviously, but we didn’t want you there for that reason exactly. You could have been seriously harmed.”

Dean’s cheeks brighten in colour and he ducks again, burrowing in the nearest patch of fur he can find, hiding silent, embarrassed tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Castiel chuckles along his neck. “We’re grateful, sweetheart, not angry, don’t worry. You stopped Sam from doing something he would live to regret and we ended up working on legal grounds only.” Sam huffs at Castiel as if to say _‘I wouldn’t regret a thing’_ , but Castiel smiles and taps him smartly on the nose. The Alpha rolls back over. “It was bitter sweet luck that you came down, beautiful.”

Sam flips again, turning his whole body until he’s adjacent with Dean’s stomach, lying like a frog with his tail wagging playfully in the air as he licks little kitten stripes along the bruised up skin. Dean closes his eyes and sighs in easy comfort.

“Dean?” Castiel asks.

“Mm?” Dean replies, bowing into the pleasure of it all.

“Why did you come downstairs?”

 _Oh_. Dean pauses again and Sam nudges ever so gently against his hipbone, nuzzling at the smooth expanse of pale skin—one of the few still left on his body. Dean pets his muzzle in retaliation, happy to sooth his Alpha for once.

“I woke up and heard shouting.” He sucks in a deep breath. _Tell the truth, right?_ “I…I’m not sure. I didn’t like hearing you both upset and I just thought that I...it was stupid.” Sam’s nose at his bellybutton urges him on. “I wanted to help if I could. And—I don’t like you upset, I didn’t even really choose to do it, my body just kind of…went. Without me telling it to. Master would be mad if I ever listened to my instincts like that, he always said—”

Dean stops himself when he feels the two bodies tense against him and he pushes back into a human Castiel’s comfort and strokes over Sam’s smooth nose. Both nuzzle up to him.

“You can go on, if you’d like, little one, if you want to tell us. We don’t mind, beautiful, it’s okay,” Castiel assures, but Dean doesn’t.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” he mutters, shivering when Sam’s tongue flicks gently over his ribs, chasing away any and every mark there is. It feels too good to be true, yet it’s happening right before him.

“You’re very brave, you know that?” Castiel says after a second, lifting an arm for Dean to lean on and a hand to stroke through his hair, pushing it back into some kind of array. Dean doesn’t respond beyond ducking down further, until Castiel catches him and pulls him in closer. “I’m sure you don’t see it, sweetheart, you don’t see a lot of wonderful things about yourself. But I’m being honest with you now; you are one of the bravest people I’ve ever met. Right up there with Sam here.” He strokes Sam’s thick mane.

Sam bucks gently in response.

“I like going outside,” Dean says randomly, rolling his eyes and ducking his face in humiliation when the words are out.

But then Sam licks a long stripe over his chest and Castiel hums into his hair, he doesn’t feel so dumb, more like he’s being rewarded.

“We like it too,” Castiel says into his scalp. “Now that you’re up and about, we can do this more often, what do you say?” Dean nods eagerly. “Good boy, baby. You wanna ask some questions for a little while?” Dean nods again. “Perfect, go ahead, sweetheart.”

Dean sorts out the order in his mind before starting with, “Why did they do that? The licking thing?”

Castiel smiles against the tiny hairs at his neck and eventually huffs a laugh in his mouth’s place. “Well, we should have figured you wouldn’t have done that in your previous pack.” Dean’s tugged in tighter, a wolf tongue moves to his neck. “It’s to show Alpha that they accept you as his Omega—and, actually, to gain your trust. See, you’re letting them to your weakest point and they don’t hurt you from it. It’s gaining trust on both ends. Sam can trust them with you, you can trust them. It’s an old tradition, going back millennia, I think.”

Dean frowns at the whole _‘Omega needing to trust’_ thing, but he doesn’t bother saying anything. He’s figured their views on Omegas by now, anyway, he shouldn’t have to bring it all up yet again…

“You don’t understand that, do you?” Castiel says, humour in his deep voice. Dean regretfully shakes his head. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay. I know you will at some point, don’t worry. Question?”

“Uh…why did everyone shift? When Thomas ran out, why did you all turn?”

“To show it was a whole pack decision, to cast him out. He didn’t have much of a choice, after that, what with thirty two wolves after him.”

Dean frowns. “Why was everyone after him?”

“Because he was going to hurt you. Because he already _had_ hurt you…we don’t tolerate that in our pack, especially with an Omega. You mean a lot to us Dean, you need to understand. We work together and we help our members in need, and you’re a member in need. It’s just how we work.”

Dean nods slowly. He asks quietly, “Why is everyone still shifted?”

“It’s a sign of respect, to their Alpha. And Sam’s still shifted to show respect back, otherwise he’d be curled up talking to you as well.” Sam nudges at both of them in response.

“How come you’re allowed to?” He regrets it quickly, but Cas laughs and he doesn’t feel bad.

“Sam allowed me to. You needed someone to talk to, he let me. It’s a simple as that, little one, we all want the best for you. You deserve it.”

It’s silent after that, but it’s not awkward, more like companionable—the soft June wind drifting over them like a blanket and with Sam’s relentless lapping at his stomach and Castiel’s lips at his throat, his hand in his hair, Dean drifts neatly in and out of sleep, every thought swimming his head calm and soothing, leaving behind any nightmares from before.

It’s maybe hours later that Jo emerges from the house; fully clothed and human again, approaching the apple tree with three sets of clothes in her arms. She hands them to Castiel, strokes a kind hand over Dean’s hair and walks back inside, shepherding a whole group of wolves with her.

Castiel sits up first, balancing Dean with him, donning a light blue t shirt over his head and shimmying a pair of boxer-briefs up his legs with a fine finesse where he’s kneeling, before standing and shunning on the jeans. He moves to dress Dean next, but Sam growls lowly at him in warning, until Cas chuckles and backs off with his hands up in a placating gesture, a small smile on his mouth.

Sam laps at his thigh in gratitude and Dean sits there, wide eyed and confused all the way up until the last wolf waddles lazily back into the house and Sam shifts back to his usual giant frame with a wonderfully dimpled grin before diving on Dean and wrapping him up in his thick limbs, skin against perfect skin.

Dean sighs at the contact and smiles too, his face mushed against one perfect shoulder.

“God, I’ve needed to do that for _hours_ ,” Sam hisses into his hair, one hand accompanying it, the other lifting Dean shortly to straddle his lap. Dean can’t wait until he’s healed enough to hold on properly…

Dean huffs slightly, lifting his head so he can nuzzle up as well, match Sam’s powerful scenting over him, his hands darting over Dean’s body as if checking he is really here.

“Mm,” he hums, pulling Dean in tighter. “ _Fuck_ , you feel so good, baby. I love you, Dean, you beautiful thing, I love you so fucking much it hurts, you know that? Christ pup, you’re gonna kill me...”

Dean frowns and gulps because he’s definitely not gonna kill him, he just…

“And Jo’s gonna kill you if you don’t get some clothes on, Romeo,” Castiel chuckles, nudging at Sam’s back with a bare foot. Sam smiles too and moves off, his eyes tracking Dean’s face, making sure it’s all where it should be. “I’m sure you can continue this inside.”

Sam grins up at him from his knees on the floor, those dimples so close to Dean’s eyes, he actually can’t stop himself from moving his lips to one perfect indent, scenting along Sam’s face. He freezes when Sam does, poised and prepared to leap off in apology, but then Sam’s yanking him close again and everything’s okay. “Aw, baby, don’t do that to me _now_ ,” he whines, cranking up Dean’s confusion.

Castiel pulls Dean off then, leaving a huffing Alpha crouched on the floor, looking up with dazed eyes as Dean stands above him. He watches as Castiel dresses him, helps him step into oversized boxers and pyjama pants that swim his feet. He only moves to his own clothes once Dean’s completely dressed and even then, the second he can’t watch him when the t-shirt goes over his head looks like too much, and he smiles again when he sees that’s Dean’s still right there.

Dean’s lifted in full arms when they’re all ready to leave and go, Castiel holding Sam’s waist as they walk through the house again, Dean burying his face back in Sam’s neck.

They walk for about a minute through the house, up one small flight of stairs, before Castiel opens a door and they enter a room, Sam lets Dean down into a plush leather armchair in the middle of it. And when Dean looks around at the mass stacks of books lining the shelves coating every wall, he feels like he’s in a public library. He smiles around at them all, dazed. Castiel sits beside him in another armchair and Dean smiles at him, pleased to have him close, before setting his sights back on Alpha and hoping he’s allowed to sit on his lap…

But Alpha doesn’t sit anywhere, he just stands and watches, hands in his jean pockets. Dean frowns up at him shortly before remembering his place and turning away. Two soft hands move to separate sides of his face; Castiel’s stroking his hair and Sam’s caressing his cheek until he looks back up.

“I’ll be back in a few hours or so, sweetheart, you’re okay. Cas can read to you, if you’d like, maybe help you read? Don’t give me those pup eyes, little one,” he says, smiling, threading his fingers through Dean’s hair. “I won’t be too long.”

A kiss is pressed to his forehead, one on Castiel’s lips before the Alpha takes his leave, his scent floating with him. But Dean curls up and inhales along the tee shirt he dons, breathing in the scent of Sam and Cas and that’s all the more awesome. He blinks up at Castiel.

“Would you like to move to the couch, sweetheart?” he offers, nodding its way. “Then you can lay along my lap, if you want, I could read you a story?”

Dean blinks again and nods, already hopping up and travelling over, Cas hot on his tail. They pause because Cas does so Dean does, he watches the beta with wide, wondering eyes.

“What would you like to read, little pup?” Dean shrugs, unsure. Castiel frowns in contemplation. “How about we start at Harry Potter? Amazing series, and we’ve got seven of them to get through. Maybe later we can watch the movies. Is that alright?”

Dean nods. He’s heard shortly of Harry Potter before, mostly back at the home, years and years ago - but other than that, the thing’s a total mystery to him. He settles against Castiel once the book’s retrieved though, his head nuzzled deeply into his lap, Castiel’s hand buried in his hair. And he listens to attention when Castiel reads.

They’re on chapter four by the time Dean’s stomach rumbles and Castiel jumps, all but slamming the book down on a nearby table and leaping from the sofa, uplifting Dean entirely. He grunts at the force and stares with wide eyes up at the Beta, confused and shocked, his scent laced with it. Cas kneels shortly and kisses the top of his head, stroking him in placation before lifting back up and walking away.

“I’ll grab your lunch, sweetheart, _and_ breakfast. You should have told me you were hungry, little one, I don’t like to see you hungry. Stay here for a few minutes, I won’t be long,” the last words are spoken out of the door and on the final one, the whole thing slams shut and Dean’s left all on his own.

He lies back to the couch and scents where Castiel was sitting, all the way up until the leather overpowers it again so he just stuffs his head down the front of his tee.

He feels good. Remarkably good for such a shattering morning – everything feels cleaner somehow, like Dean doesn’t need to worry so much anymore, like the display of trust seems to be holding and he doesn’t need to be terrified of everyone any longer. He feels safe with Alpha and with Castiel. Even Jo and Ellen, Maggie the little girl, play their parts in keeping Dean sane here, soothing even his mind into a full sense of security…

Dean bolts upright when he feels the first tingle.

 _Nononono_ …

He clutches at his stomach as though it’ll make any sort of difference, he groans down at himself—at his body for ruining a good thing while it’s going, for _God’s_ sake.

Dean stands when the first, small wave makes itself known, a flush of slick running to the crevice of his thighs, an actual flush staining his skin. He can’t stay here, he knows that, he needs to go find someone, Castiel or Alpha, so long as he’s not stuck in here when the first real flash hits him…

_But Castiel told him to stay put…_

Dean’s already at the door by the time that little memory resurfaces, he’s already out of it and navigating more corridors before he reasons that Castiel couldn’t possibly have included the chance of him going into heat with that meaning to stay where he is, so really, Dean’s free to find what he needs.

The litany of _alphaalphaalphaalpha_ has started up in his mind again, similar to the rejection but not as painful—more unadulterated _want_ rather than stinging need. He still needs to get to Alpha though, even Castiel before it gets worse.

He passes the small staircase, a few unfamiliar faces there turn and gawp at him, but he doesn’t pay attention, he’s just travelling for the hall again, hoping to get some basis for the kitchen, where Castiel said he was getting Dean’s lunch…

It turns out the scent of Alpha is easier to find than Beta in a house full of Gamma’s, so Dean just lets his body navigate, through another maze of corridor’s, the scent growing and growing until finally he arrives at a door, closed and professional looking, Dean can smell more people in there, people Alpha might be embarrassed in front of, like Master used to be when Dean went to him for help in his heat, when he could barely walk from the need.

Dean’s knocking on the door before he can think about it and opening it with the “Come in!” without deciding he would.

Five people and Alpha.

It’s an office, Dean can tell so far, a huge, vintage desk on the other side, Alpha sat behind it and—Dean doesn’t see much besides his alpha, his vision just zooms into the relief he can already feel, another layer of slick and he grimaces, his hand white where it’s still on the doorknob.

“Dean? Sweetheart, you okay?” Sam can’t smell him yet then.

Dean steps in closer, the scent drawing him in, his head held down in some semblance of an apology when he says, “Alpha…please,” he pants, clutching desperately at his t-shirt, “I, um…I need you. Please.”

The scent apparently hits him then, because he goes ramrod straight, his eyes glazing slightly before he shakes it off and dodges out from behind the desk, moving smoothly over to Dean and clutching him up in a strong grip, he calls a, “Rain check,” over his shoulder at the other Gammas before walking to the corridor, slamming the door behind him and burying his nose in Dean’s throat. “Okay, baby boy. Let’s go find Cas, huh?”

And Dean nods, rutting his crotch as surreptitiously as he can along one sharp hipbone, whining desperately into his Alpha’s neck. Sam’s hand moves to balance him properly by coming up to hold him beneath Dean’s backside—Dean moves back into that touch as well, he tightens his legs around Alpha’s slim waist and nuzzles deeper, needing more…

“Hush, sweetheart, you’re okay, we’ll make it good soon, baby, don’t worry, shshsh,” he soothes, his other hand stroking over Dean’s hair. Dean’s panting now, gulping against his Alpha, his body convulsing in an uneven rhythm – moving back against the hand near his aching hole, rocking forward into the pressure at his throbbing dick. It’s not enough… _fuck_ , it’s not enough.

“ _Pleasepleaseplease_ ,” he pants into Sam’s perfect throat, nuzzling his face into the collar obscuring Dean’s access. He clutches at the fabric along Sam’s ribs, fisting up in his fingers and rocking, forwards and backwards, picking up the rhythm. “ _Alpha_ …” he whines.

“Alright, Omega, it’s okay, little one, you’re okay, come on now, baby, hush, sweetheart.” Dean doesn’t look up from Alpha’s shirt but Sam stops straight, pulls Dean up further before saying, “Cas. Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s in heat,” to which Dean responds with a muffled wail until they’re moving again.

Another hand strokes along Dean’s side, one clutches at Dean’s own taut hand, Castiel’s fresh scent makes itself known beside Alpha and that just makes it worse… Until Alpha’s all but running up a flight of stairs, fast-walking a little further and finally placing Dean gently down on a bed, letting him go and stepping back. Dean growls at the lack of touch but when he looks up Alpha’s shirt is being shredded and a golden stretch of skin is perfectly exposed to the daylight; jeans drop instantly to the floor along with his boxers and Dean reaches dazedly out for him – for the perfect column of pure Alpha.

“Shh, baby,” Alpha says, moving back to the bed. He peels the pyjama pants from Dean’s legs, discards away with them somewhere Dean doesn’t care enough to look – between him and Castiel, the tee’s removed and thrown as well. And when Alpha sinks to clutch his entire, perfectly bare body in line with Dean, he’s nearly dying. He whines.

Alpha kisses everywhere; starting at Dean’s forehead, moving further and further down to his lips, pressing a quick peck there before sinking lower – down over his chest in a straight line through the middle, over his fluttering stomach muscles, lower to the bare skirting of his cock, nuzzling gently at the hairless skin there before licking a stripe straight up the shaft. Dean rocks up, his shoulder blades pressing aggravatingly into the grey duvet of a strange bed, his hips leaving it all together until Alpha has to pin them down with two gentle hands, his thumb stroking along the sharp lift of bone as he sucks the whole thing down to the base.

Dean’s wail rocks even in his own ears, his hands fist roughly at the sheets and he feels like he’s losing all control until finally, _blessedly_ , Castiel makes another appearance, his clothes discarded too – he scoots up behind Dean and pulls him to lay between his legs, his head turned to scent along a perfectly bare stomach.

Dean ruts down now instead, needing pressure at his leaking hole, needing more than this perfect encasing over his still seriously throbbing cock. “Alpha…” he pants out in between keens. “ _Please_ , Sam…please, I need it, please…”

Castiel strokes over his hair to keep it off his sweaty forehead, the other hand dancing gently over his whole chest, pushing past both erect nipples until Dean arches into the touch, choking out slightly at the twinge in his side at the harsh motion. A thumb runs down the side of his face and pushes at an escaped tear, but its Alpha Dean needs to move – this isn’t doing anything, his hole is still stupidly empty…

But when Sam trails a hand down Dean’s side in a feather-light touch, when it moves to under his splayed, bent up legs and presses one finger along the slick opening - Dean’s panting increases. Ten fold.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he whines, when the tip pushes in and the rest of it follows, down to the last knuckle. Dean rocks into it, needing more pressure.

“Shh, sweetheart, there you go,” Sam says, looking up at him when he releases Dean’s dick. He trails further down to lick along his balls, releasing his finger to place both hands at Dean’s flank and tilt him up, higher for better access and before Dean can even react, a perfect, sharp tongue is pressed straight into his hole, teasing and probing at the slick walls.

Dean sobs and rocks into him, thumbs pull him wider open and it feels so fucking good – he reclines back into Cas, his hands finding their way to the beta’s knees to just hold on for dear life, a handle to grip as he rocks as hard as his battered body will let him; up until it’s just not enough.

“Please fuck me,” he whispers, his voice taut in his own ears. “Please, Alpha, please knot me…”

He knows, somewhere deep in the back of his mind, he knows he shouldn’t be asking and that this is Alpha’s decision, but his body doesn’t care. His body lights up like lightening when Sam pulls out, disappointed yet hopeful all at the same time as he watches the freaking huge cock bob before him, so close yet seriously nowhere near close enough. Dean reaches out for him and gets a soft hand instead.

“We’ll get there, baby, hang on,” he says, actually _moving away_ to crawl next to Castiel, sit beside him against the headboard. Dean lifts up and turns over, watching from low to the bed, waiting desperately for the all clear to _leap_ on his alpha – a low rumble of need vibrating from his throat. He rest his chin minutely on Cas’ thigh, waiting, waiting, waiting…

Sam pats his thigh. “Come on then,” he says, smiling. Dean clambers haphazardly over Castiel’s legs, climbing up Sam’s until he can straddle his hips, position himself just above his Alpha’s own eager cock, waiting for Sam to make that move. He doesn’t like this – the whole waiting thing. He just needs a knot inside of him _now_ , he doesn’t have time to play around, he needs his alpha. He balances his hands low on Sam’s stomach, peers meaningfully into those multi-coloured eyes, narrowing them until Sam just _does_ it already…

“Alpha,” Dean says, his voice low in an almost warning though he aims it as a suggestion. Sam just smiles up at him though, showing off those dimples and perfect white teeth, his hands finally coming to Dean’s hips to hold him steady, his thumbs once again over the clear bone. “ _Please_.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam says, grinning. Dean catches Castiel from the corner of his eye, crawling up closer, pressing his body along the length of Sam’s and along Dean’s bent leg. He kisses along Alpha’s neck at the precise same second Dean has a cock buried swiftly in his ass, already balls deep. He hisses at the quick intrusion, but his mouth’s open in ecstasy - he ruts down into it the second Sam stills and he keens once his breath returns back to him.

“You alright, little one?” Castiel asks, turning his burning eyes up at Dean’s flushed face. Dean nods quickly, grinding lower at the feeling of fullness, the perfect sense of accomplishment as the rod buried inside of him starts rubbing – not thrusting – just seemingly getting Dean used to the feeling again. Right now Dean doesn’t mind, but if his Alpha doesn’t pick up the pace soon, he very much will. He’s already burning for the knot.

“Fuck,” Sam hisses, his own, perfect face contorted in pleasure. “Now this…this feels better. Holy crap, baby, you feel like fucking _fire_ , Jesus.”

Dean blinks down at him and waits, first for the movement then for the knot, but Sam seems to be taking his time to revel in the pure sensation. Well, he can do that tomorrow when everything’s not quite so life or death and when Dean doesn’t feel like he’s going to drop of the end of the earth if he doesn’t have his relief. He whimpers and grinds again, moving his hand back to grip at Sam’s - prying it off to hold onto the long fingers. He leans forward onto the other, pressing at Sam’s firm chest.

“Fuck me,” he whispers, leaning closer to Sam’s cheek. “Please, Alpha, please knot me. I need you.”

Apparently that does the trick and then some because Sam’s thrusting up then, burrowing deeper than before into Dean, his hands gripping like vices along his bare skin, probably leaving bruises, but it’s not like that’s something new. Besides, he needs this Alpha’s mark somewhere on him – his new Alpha, his new mate. He sighs out a jagged sound as the echoes of wet slaps fill the room, tilts his hips for better access until he hits _that spot_ and Dean cries out again. Alpha aims for it like a piston, his motions harsh but exactly what Dean needs right now. Every single poker-accurate, coma-inducing hit he gets at the little bundle of nerves inside of him feels like an angel pushing him closer and closer to the edge, urging him over it until with one powerful push, Dean keens, Sam grips and he’s coming like a madman, rutting crazily, creamy ropes of come painting Sam’s chest and stomach, reaching even to his neck.

Dean sinks low against him, moving in time for Sam as he gets closer, riding him as the knot starts to form, inching further and further up until, with a hard thrust, he’s buried it deep inside him. His motions are shorter now but no less inducing, Dean can feel his dick already fill again with interest, the heat’s head making itself known. Sam needs to come, that’s what it is. Sam needs to completely fill him up with his warm seed and keep him perfect and full, plug it all inside him.

Hips stutter and Sam’s breath catches in his throat but it’s only when Castiel’s mouth connects with his own that he shoves Dean down, throws his hips up and shoots his load straight into Dean’s belly, filling him perfectly and Dean sighs, finally relaxing against him, somewhat satiated through the monstrous heat. Sam’s hands stroke his sides, his chest heaves beneath Dean’s worn fingers and everything’s just perfect when Castiel’s hand joins Sam’s.

Sam pulls him in to kiss thoroughly then, his tongue (still tasting like a salty Dean) dipping quickly between his lips, pulling out a happy moan.

They’re all three smiling when they pull off.

“Better, baby?” Sam asks, massaging over his scalp.

Dean grins lazily, blinking down at Sam. “Definitely,” he says, mewling when Cas runs his hand over Dean’s cheek, inching too close to the strained rim, trapped over Sam’s knot.  
Dean wriggles somewhat, practically milking the thing inside him to complete release, earning from Sam a hitched groan. He scowls playfully at Dean when he opens his eyes.

“Well, welcome to the pack, beautiful,” Castiel says, feathering his hand along Dean’s thigh. Dean smiles over at him, slightly shyer now the toxins seem to have worn off for the time being. Dean’s immensely grateful with how perfect Castiel’s being over all of this – he just watched his mate willingly fuck another person and now he’s smiling and smelling all happy about it. Dean moves out to hold his hand, hopefully portraying his pleasure.

Cas smiles at him. “You hungry, little one? I know you didn’t have breakfast.” He glares slightly over at Sam. “Or lunch. And we were interrupted when I went to grab you food.” Dean ducks quickly, but nods anyway. He knows it’s bad to go without food and water in a heat, what with his body losing so much liquid. He’s surprised, though, when Castiel grins up at him and leans over the bed, retrieving a plate Dean didn’t notice was there.

It’s toast; cut up in neat little squares, smothered in peanut butter and jelly – Dean’s belly rumbles and he opens his mouth gleefully when Cas offers him a piece. He moans at the pleasure, ignoring how good the whole thing feels with the knot and the food and the company as much as he can to just focus on eating. Master was never this nice, even on a good day.

When he’s finished, Sam leans forward and kisses at the corner of his mouth, catching crumbs of bread and a small smudge of jam.

“Do you feel good, baby?” he asks absently.

Dean doesn’t even consider his response when he says, “Better than I ever have before.”


	5. Blame It On Me

Heats with Master were never enjoyable affairs.

Once Dean finally managed to crawl his way to Master’s bedroom—normally in the middle of the night—he had to sit and wait outside the door for his Master to wake, he had to kneel mere _metres_ from his Master’s scent with his hands firmly on his knees for any kind of say so to touch himself or even to buck up the courage and _ask_ his Master. And it was only ever on the second day of a heat, when Dean’s clothes had been officially sweat through and he was trembling violently like a madman outside his door that Master ever let him in.

He’d walk past him sometimes. Dean would be curled against the wall with four fingers up his ass and an iron grip around his dick, mewling the second he smelt that hypnotic scent shift on the other side of the wood and Master would appear, look down at Dean in blatant disgust, and just walk off. He’d leave Dean there, just outside the perimeter of his Alpha’s pure scent, _dying_ from the blatant, unadulterated _need_ that wouldn’t leave without Alpha’s help and not come back until he was sure Dean was incoherent with it. Until he was sure Dean would make a mistake and that he could punish him even more.

But that was only when Dean was bad.

When Dean was good, sometimes Master would make it good. One heat, years and years ago, when Dean was still really just getting used to them, Master woke up just for him and called him into bed. He knotted Dean between the sheets even before that first real _kick_ had set in, before Dean could lose sight of how he should be behaving and he didn’t make any mistakes, he just nuzzled at Master and slept beside him in the bed, the whole way through it.

Dean used to think that was the best heat of his life, but now he knows he was wrong.

Because heat with Sam and Cas? Is fucking _awesome_ in comparison.

They don’t punish him. They don’t make him wait or force him to kneel on the floor whilst they finish with themselves, and they don’t look at him as if he’s the Bane of their existence. They hold him and they cherish him, whisper in his ear that he’s safe and wanted and loved and no one will ever hurt him again, not while he’s wrapped in Sam’s arms.

Dean’s not exactly naïve enough to believe them quite yet, obviously—he’s bound to fuck up somewhere along the line and earn himself more pain—but the way they keep saying it, it’s as though they really _do_ mean it. As though they really give two shits about what happens to him. It’s scary but amazing at the same time and Dean’s never felt like that before. It’s nice. It’s _good_.

So, by the beginning of the sixth day, when Dean feels the edge start to take its leave, he’s almost reluctant. Until he shifts and his ass complains at him for the hundredth time that week, and then he’s relieved all over again. He just nuzzles into Castiel’s throat and lets him scent Dean out.

“Ah,” Cas hums, pulling at his waist and looping his leg over Dean’s. “It’s letting up. I bet that’s a relief, huh?”

Dean nods. Yeah, it really is. Sure, he’ll miss the closeness he was awarded, the scent swaddling the room in pure perfection, Alpha and Cas two amazing entities beside him in the bed and the knowledge that he was safe between them, but really…heats suck. And in the end, they always do, no matter who they’re spent with.

“I think Alpha might be a little disappointed,” Castiel says, but Dean can feel the smirk pressed to his forehead so he doesn’t bother getting worried. He just mouths at the mark Alpha left (from that time they were fucking on day two, when they thought Dean was asleep from exhaustion at the foot of the bed) at Cas’s clavicle, enhancing the purple bruise against his tanned skin. Cas has procured a decent little collection of love bites (that’s what Sam called them when Dean looked on, confused) over the last week or so because apparently Alpha has a thing. A thing that will only be introduced to Dean once he’s all better. He doesn’t mind too much.

A few minutes later and the shower shuts off, a pause of a few seconds and then Alpha’s waltzing through the door in the aura of thick steam surrounding him, naked and dripping but towelling his hair into a wonderful disarray. Dean smiles up at him from over Cas’ shoulder and welcomes the dimpled reply.

Sam pauses and sniffs at the air a few metres from the bed, tilting his nose into the space and inhaling. He narrows a gaze down at Dean, who shrinks lower and hides against Cas’s shoulder. Alpha just huffs a laugh.

“Bet you’re pleased about that,” he says half-heartedly, dropping the towel altogether and climbing to sit up on the bed. He leans over and rests his forearms on Cas’s hip, peering over them up at Dean.

“And so he should be,” Cas yawns, tugging Dean in closer and nuzzling at the top of his head. “I can’t imagine getting fucked every hour for five days straight is anything to get excited about. It must be a relief.”

Dean smiles were his face is smushed against a stubbly stretch of jawbone. Cas understands.

“Point taken,” Sam grins, reaching over a hand to palm at Dean’s bare waist. “You feeling okay, baby?”

“Yeah,” Dean says, lifting one arm from between the mattress and Cas’s hip where he wedged it hours ago to reach back for Sam’s fingers and hold onto them. Alpha purrs at him and Dean fucking _revels_ in the display. He’s happy, so happy and he never wants this to end— _ever_.

“We should go for a shower, little one,” Cas advices and both Dean and Alpha grumble at the suggestion, shifting their positions in protest and a dazed hope to convince the Beta. Nevertheless, Cas just chuckles a laugh at them both before being the first to lift off to a litany of soft growls and tug Dean up with him. Dean only goes because he’s being told to, otherwise he’d happily have stayed in bed beside them both for the rest of the millennium. Damn Cas and his latent Gamma need to be clean.

Dean doesn’t hide his skulking motions though, and Sam doesn’t hide his laugh at him, or the hand that grips tighter to pull him back, or the soft lips nudging at his own. Nope. No shower today. Dean’s staying with Sam.

“ _No_ ,” Cas chastises, pulling insistently at Dean’s hand with both of his. “Sam. We had a deal.”

Deals are dumb.

And they only made the stupid thing because the first—and last—time they all tried to shower together, Dean had ended up sprawled haphazardly across the shower’s floor, curled up around two sets of feet against the pain wheedling it’s way across his side. They’d carried him to the bed to the rhythm of Dean’s panting, even though he did insist he was fine, they didn’t have to lug him about themselves. And this morning Sam had suggested a shower, presumably just as gung-ho about sharing as Dean was, but Cas stepped in with a resounding _no_ , that Dean didn’t need any more injuries and neither did the rest of them. So they’d tossed a coin and Sam had gone in first, alone, Cas was to help Dean.

Well, two showers in less than ten minutes can’t be a bad thing, can it?

“But he smells so _good_ ,” Sam whines against Dean’s mouth, sitting up and wrapping his arms around his waist, holding Dean tight to the space between his thighs. He moves to Dean’s jaw joint and mouths at it, earning a tight whine. “You both do. Just come back to bed and then I can smell awesome again, too.”

Dean can practically sense Cas rolling his eyes and he smiles, clenching the hands still wrapped around his. Alpha’s head is now beside his, facing Cas straight on and Dean would bet money on the expression he’s giving; a childish grin beaming with dimples, cunning eyes narrowed and suggesting as they pin his mate down.

It’s funny how much you can learn about two people in the space of a hundred and twenty hours straight with them.

But Castiel ultimately just huffs and tugs Dean towards him—Alpha lets him go because he knows Dean wouldn’t be able to deal with the two different orders and they learnt that the hard way (“Come here, Dean,” “No, you should go back to sleep, you’ve barely had any. Go back to sleep, Dean, it’s okay,” “He doesn’t need more sleep if he’s awake, does he? Come here, baby,” “Sam, don’t be ridiculous, he needs rest,” “He’s had enough, he needs me,” “Dean, rest,” “Come here,” “Dean? Hey, hey, pup, it’s okay, you’re okay.”) So yeah. They don’t do that anymore.

“You smell _decent_. Dean and I need to smell decent before we go downstairs again otherwise Ellen might murder us. _So_ ,” it’s a warning and Sam lets Dean go. “Thank you. We won’t be long.”

So Dean trails obediently behind him for the bathroom.

It is a quick shower, like Cas had promised—with Dean washing himself as best he can whilst Cas sorts himself out, before he steps in when Dean can’t physically do any more. He’s gentle (of course he is, he’s Cas) and before Dean knows it, he’s leaning against the toned column of beta perfection and purring into Castiel’s hairline, completely drenched from the spray. Cas accommodates him like he has for the last however long he’s been here and washes Dean’s back for him, dipping down gently to clean out his sore hole. In the end, ironically, Dean doesn’t want to leave the shower.

 _Especially_ if that means going downstairs.

Back out in the main room, damp and foggy, Sam’s dressed for the day in jeans, a t-shirt, and another blue-plaid cowboy shirt, just donning his boots. He glances up at them both and smiles, before standing and rooting around in some draws off to the side of the room, opposite the bed.

Cas deposits Dean on the down comforter with a wet kiss to his forehead before he finds his own clothes in the wardrobe and busies himself dressing in them too.

They’re fascinating to watch, somehow. All they’re doing is finding clothes to wear and putting them on, but it’s such a practiced routine and it’s flawless and… _nauseating_ to watch.

It reminds Dean that he doesn’t fit into their routine and that he shouldn’t. He’s the omega, he’s the little anomaly for them all and he’s the one that shouldn’t ( _doesn’t_ ) belong. It’s not a great feeling to be reminded off after the last few days and he suddenly feels embarrassed—that he was so comfortable around them and he allowed himself to feel protected and loved and cared for, convinced himself it could last. But it can’t because he’s an abomination. Because he’s just an Omega.

By the time Sam returns to help him dress, Dean doesn’t look him in the eye, too deep in his funk to offer more than a twitch. Even when Sam rests a huge hand at his cheek, he doesn’t bother acknowledging it—he just ducks his gaze back to where it should be and leaves it at that. Like he’s supposed to, without the excuse of a heat.

Sam looks at him in confusion and worry, but then Cas sidles up and pulls Dean into standing and Sam apparently forgets it and just gets him dressed.

Once he’s finally prepared for the day—dressed in joggers that barely fit and an oversized shirt that smells like Alpha, standing beside the always-immaculate pair in jeans and fitted shirts—he clings to Castiel because at least he’s not making the assumption that _Alpha_ wants him anywhere near. Cas is only a Beta. No one mentions it, which he’s grateful for. At least they don’t try to carry him.

They pass Dean’s room ( _the_ guest _room, it doesn’t belong to you_ ) which surprises him. He didn’t know Alpha’s room was just across the landing, he didn’t realise they would both have been so close when Dean needed them before the heat. Not that he’d have done anything about it. It’s not his place.

“Are you okay, Dean?” Cas asks casually, apparently not noticing Dean’s discomfort and just asking because he’s nice. Dean nods against his shoulder and presses closer.

“I’m fine.”

They descend the same stairs Dean did when he came to them with Thomas, Alpha leading the way with him and Cas taking up the rear. Everything smells duller now, at the end of his heat—Alpha’s scent wafting in a compelling sense in front of him, but it’s not overwhelming anymore, which pleases Dean, at least. Now he has control over himself again, which can only be a good thing. It was with Master, at any rate.

The main hall’s empty by the time they enter it, just swarmed with thirty-two different scents of both human and wolf combined, all but painting the walls. Dean’s heart picks up when they move further forward, towards a room that sounds busy and full and not particularly welcoming to a clingy Omega that probably still reeks of sex. But he follows Alpha in because that’s what’s expected of him and besides, Cas’s hand’s pretty unrelenting wrapped around his waist.

The kitchen’s not actually as busy as Dean was terrified of—and he notices Jo, Ellen, and Maggie before they notice him, either sat on a counter reading a magazine, cooking at a stove, or playing with what looks like an advanced Gameboy (other kids used to have them back at the home). Others swim into focus before his distinct scent hits the air or before they notice Alpha in the room—an older man who looks familiar but Dean’s not sure why, stirring something in what looks like a croc-pot; Elliot apparently sulking in one corner, arms folded over his chest in protest; and a scrawny looking guy reading a How To For Dummies book that Dean can’t see the purpose of. And if he all but shoves himself into Castiel’s grip, then so be it.

Right. Great. Fantastic.

Maggie notices them first. She beams and offers a bright, “Omega!” for the others to follow onto, and they do—all in one excruciating swivel of heads that leads to six pairs of eyes all staring and gawping, awesome…

Elliot’s the first to move—up from his seat in the corner and fast walking to a door leading outside, old fashioned with two sections, one at the top and one at the bottom—

“Elliot,” Alpha snaps, his voice a deep growl that Dean shies away from, even when he steps back slightly and flanks Dean’s other side. Dean peers loosely up at him from under his lashes, taking in the stormy expression and forcing the panic rising in his chest to _fuck off_ because it’s not aimed at him. It doesn’t help much. “Is there something you’d like to say?”

Elliot’s frozen by the door, presumably pinned beneath Alpha’s wrath, and Dean can totally understand that one. He just gawps over at them, his gaze flicking every now and then to Dean, which Dean avoids meeting like the plague. He knows what the pup thinks of him…

“To _Dean_ ,” Sam prompts.

Dean looks back up at him, surprised. What does Elliot have to say to _him_?

The younger boy gulps visibly before looking sharply over to Dean, eyes wet and narrowed.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” he hisses, before storming from the old farm door and disappearing outside.

Alpha jolts forward slightly as though he’s headed on going after him, but Castiel’s hand removes itself from his trouser pocket and grabs Sam’s forearm, holding him steady, closer to Dean. Who, in turn, steps back and very much shies away, shoving his head into the back of Castiel’s neck and denying the fact that he’s stood here, in front of everyone, with a pissed off Alpha fuming on his right. Cas tugs him closer, almost subconsciously.

“Leave him, Sam,” he says, lowering his fingers until they can lace through Alpha’s own. “He’s sorry, I really think he is. You know what Thomas was like with them…”

“Yeah? Well that’s not an excuse,” Sam snaps, jolting his hand from Cas’s grip to run it jaggedly through his hair.

Every single scent in the room has turned deeper, lower, clogging the space with a bitterness that cuts Dean to the bone until he tenses completely and pulls gently from Castiel’s grip to palm at his own skull. He’s scared. Alpha’s furious. The room smells like everyone’s about to shift and go crazy and he can’t, he won’t have an escape route and he’ll be left in the open to defend himself like before, but this time they’ll do it, they’ll end him and be done with it, just finish him off like they should have done ages ago…

Dean doesn’t realise he can’t breathe until Cas’ hands are on him again and he’s being guided gently from the room. “Don’t do something stupid, Sam,” he warns, before shutting the door behind them.

Dean gawps up, confused, before Cas pushes him against a nearby wall out in the main hall and crowds him, taking his space and pushing limb to limb, leaving nothing but cream paint and tall, muscular Beta for Dean to inhale and it’s almost too much, after everything and everyone, Dean can’t even breathe or think straight, and Christ, he’s so goddamn pathetic it’s hilarious…

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas clips harshly, guiding a hand to his head ( _to bash it against the wall like Master did, like when you behaved like this back home_ ).

Dean can’t breathe. He actually can’t breathe.

“Dean, calm down,” Cas says, the hand drifting down to his neck to just end him quickly and avoid the bloodshed—he pulls Dean’s head in until he’s face to face with a marked up throat; so he’ll suffocate him and isn’t that poetic. “Just breathe, Dean, breathe, it’s okay.”

And Dean does because he’s asked to, though he doesn’t see much point if this is where it all ends. He can’t do this.

Cas smells good, if that’s any consolation to dying. He smells like the ocean in summer and Dean can’t remember how he knows what that smells like, and he can’t remember how he knows that song Ellen had sung, he can’t remember how _he knows Alpha_ and this…it’s too much. Dean just _can’t_ anymore.

“Dean, I’m asking you to just scent me, can you do that? Don’t think about anything, little one, just breathe in and out for me, that’s it. In and out, pup, that’s good.”

Dean was doing that in the first place, but he does his best to obey. Every lungful he takes in feels like the seaside and sand and sun cream all over his face, someone buying him ice-cream and painting some on his nose—

Dean rips away from Castiel with a screamed, “ _No!_ ” before he knows what he’s doing. Before he knows that he pushed Cas away, he _pushed a Beta_ and if he wasn’t going to die minutes ago, he is now. He’s never acted like this before, he doesn’t know how he’ll be punished only he does and he knows it won’t be good, Alpha will kill him for hurting his mate or he’ll be ripped apart by the pack and mauled and he’ll go to hell like every Omega before him, fuck, what the hell’s wrong with him…

“Dean?”

And that’s Alpha.

Dean’s on the floor before he can decide what he’s doing, curled into a ball with his head in his arms and sobbing into Alpha’s shirt, drenching the sleeves until he can feel it prickling against his forearms. He can smell Sam on him, around him, and it’s a scent he knows, one ingrained in him from the very start, before Master, before the home and how the hell is that even _possible_ , he never knew the man existed, this can’t be happening, how is this _happening_ —

“Dean, stop it, little one, you’re okay,” Castiel says, the Beta he just _attacked_ for no reason, the one that’s been so good to him and smells like home and family and Alpha.

What’s wrong with Dean? Something’s wrong with him…

And when the hand—soft, warm, huge and so familiar after the last five days—connects gently with his shoulder, Dean’s up and gone, though _where_ he has no idea.

His ribs hurt— _fuck_ , do they—but Dean doesn’t have a choice in that, so he ignores his pains. He ignores everything and just focuses on something he can control, he runs, until he’s up the stairs, in the guest bedroom, then the guest bathroom and burying himself inside the small space between the sink and the start of the cabinets, trembling and clutching himself. This can’t be happening—it isn’t, he’ll just wake up back on his blanket on that day, and Master will be mad at him for being late but no other alpha will be in the room, Master will just ignore him and kick him off until he’s learnt his lesson and he can eat some of Master’s dinner. He won’t have memories of good heats with Sam and Cas and he won’t have that song drumming his head or memories of something that’s never happened to him when he smells the ocean because he won’t smell the ocean. Master would never take him there, so he won’t have to worry. Ha. Everything’s gonna be fine.

Only it’s not. Because the next time Dean opens his eyes he can see the bath—the same one he crawled into with Cas on his first conscious night, the same one he and Alpha shared when he promised Dean would never have to wear a collar with him and when he got so angry that time Dean asked about a plug.

He’s been in this house for less than two weeks and it’s already eating him alive. It’s already screwing him from the inside out and Dean just _can’t_ …he can’t.

Dean counts five minutes before he smells Ellen’s scent in the doorway. He ignores it and waits for the strike that he knows will come.

Only it doesn’t.

Dean can’t do this. He needs normality and structure and this? This is about as backwards as it can get.

Ellen sits on the toilet seat and waits, watching him. Dean can see her if he just tilts backwards slightly, peering around the back of the old-fashioned sink to where she sits, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees and watching him. He blinks up at her, through his eyelashes and waits.

And waits.

“I’m waiting for you here, kiddo,” she finally sighs, moving back until she can cross both her legs and arms and stare at him pointedly, eyebrow quirked. Dean doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do here, not with _them_ , so he takes back Master-instinct and crawls out of his hiding space to kneel before her, his head bowed.

He offers a tight mewl when she doesn’t react.

He is. He’s like some useless little puppy; he’s _sixteen_ , not a kid.

“You wanna clue me in, honey?” she prompts, shifting forwards slightly until she can get her hand buried in Dean’s hair and comb it over his scalp. It takes control over every muscle in Dean’s body to stop from flinching away, but he manages it. Amazingly.

“No,” he says, knowing full well he’s being a little shit and he’d be murdered back at Master’s but he’s already on Death Row. Who cares what he does now?

But Ellen just smiles kindly and keeps stroking, conning his hair into submission until it’s all off his face.

A few minutes later and Ellen says, “They’re not mad at you, sweetheart.”

Dean huffs. Right. Even he’s not gonna buy that one, he knows what he did, he knows how badly he’ll be punished when they come for him because nothing in the world could make him go to them, not now. He _knows_ , okay?

And then Ellen’s standing and walking away, leaving Dean to wallow until he dies…except she doesn’t leave, she walks further into the bathroom, until she’s level with the bath and she can slide down it’s wall, sitting with her knees up on the floor. Dean watches on until she smiles over at him and flicks her head, indicating her request.

So Dean sits next to her because he should. But he doesn’t scent her or nuzzle her or anything else because he’s more resilient than that now. He can be grown up about this. He’s accepted his fate. He just burrows his face into his raised knees and waits there; for something new to happen.

A few more minutes of breathing and scent mingling crawls by before Ellen shifts again, before an arm loops its way around Dean’s back and holds onto him in a sturdy grip. Dean doesn’t move but Ellen pulls him in, resting her lips over his still damp hair.

“It’s okay, Dean,” she murmers. “What you did…it’s okay. You don’t need to be angry about it or embarrassed or scared. No one’s going to hurt you, I _promise_. Sam’s sorry he got upset with Elliot in front of you and Cas isn’t mad that you pushed him. Everyone’s fine Dean, no harm done. Okay?”

Of course it’s not okay. Whether they’re going to punish him or not (of course they are, that’s how these things work, it’s not negotiable) Dean still disobeyed in front of Cas and Alpha and everyone that wanted to see it, he’s a disgrace. He doesn’t deserve _regret_ or _forgiveness_ like Ellen claims, he deserves _punishment_. And only with it can he get over it. As he said; it’s non-negotiable.

“I mean they’re climbing up the walls with worry for you, but that’s all, baby,” she smiles into his hair. “They wanted to come up themselves, but I didn’t want them overwhelming you right now. You need to cool off first, and I get that. So do they, really, they just freak out quicker. They’ll be fine again if you come downstairs with me.” Dean freezes and shakes his head, silently begging her not to force him. She just tugs him closer. “Aren’t you hungry, Dean? You haven’t eaten anything since your heat and you know that’s not a good idea. Come on down to the kitchen with me and I’ll whip you something up, huh? Anything you want. You just need to come with me.”

Well if anything ever sounded ominous, that would be it. But Dean doesn’t have a choice, does he? If she asks him to ( _makes_ him) come downstairs with her, he doesn’t get a say-so. He’s to obey, previous disobedience or not, he always had to with Master and he’ll have to here. Huh. Maybe that’s a parallel he can cling to, when everything else fucks up like it did just now. This is all way too confusing.

But Ellen’s still talking, convincing him when in the end he’ll have no choice anyway. “Maggie’s worried too, you know. She wants to teach you how to play Mario Kart on her Nintendo-whatever-DS-thingy, and trust me, that is a rare thing,” she chuckles. “And Jo’s dying to introduce you to her girlfriend, Charlie. And she wants your opinion on that TV show she was on about, the one with the mother? They all want to meet you and know you Dean, no more Thomas’s or Elliot’s I swear. And, you know, I think you and Ben could be friends. Would you like that Dean? A real friend? Someone your own age who isn’t greying around the temples, huh?”

She nudges Dean for an answer, so he just nods and whispers out, “Yeah,” because it’s easier.

“Good. Come on then, kiddo, let’s go put your mates outta their misery.”

And then she’s pulling Dean up and he’s standing, at least as tall as her but so much smaller in comparison. He’s trembling when she takes his hand in hers but he stills slightly when she brings it to her mouth to kiss. He wilts and follows where she leads him, skulking behind like a kicked mutt.

The walk downstairs is shorter than Dean remembers and by the time he reappears in the main hall, Sam, Cas, Maggie, Jo and Gabriel have all accumulated, like, the _whole pack_ to swarm the room and watch him walk down and towards them. Not the whole pack. About twelve people stand altogether behind their Alpha, watching with rapt attention as Dean finally starts toeing towards them with his head to his bare feet. This is hell. _Christ_.

“Baby,” Alpha all but _snarls_ , darting to Dean until he’s scooped up in a mammoth hug and lifted clean off the floor in the grip, hefted to rest lightly against one strong shoulder when Sam supports beneath his backside to have his legs splay around two narrow hips. “You’re okay, pup, good boy,” he hums, his breath lighting Dean’s hair. “God, baby, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

Oh yeah, he’s _awesome_.

But Dean gets the distinct feeling that this isn’t not for his benefit, so he just nuzzles Sam’s hair and lets him have it. Whatever the hell he considers it to be.

"I'm sorry," Dean mumbles. "I'm sorry, Alpha."


	6. I Will Hold On

Dean spends the next few hours coiled into Sam’s arms; his little brother’s head ducked carefully and efficiently into his throat. And if he’s not flinching or avoiding Castiel like the plague, then he’s blinking into Sam’s skin and apparently ignoring the fact that he’s sat in the middle of their currently deserted living room.

He should take Dean back upstairs and he _would_. But he and Castiel had made a deal in the third day of the kid’s heat that just about the second he came around from it, they’d start integrating him into the pack. He spent five days straight with them, he _learnt_ them – but he needs to learn the pack, too, he needs their scent around him. So Sam dragged him into the living room (a communal sized thing with old couch’s and armchairs stuffed into every crevice that isn’t taken by a beanbag), flopped into the armchair and tugged Dean to curl around him like the sloth he’s been for the last hundred and seventy minutes or so.

Sam’s pathetically okay with this particular scenario (disregarding Dean’s occasional waft of fear and Castiel’s gulps and grimaces at being ignored) because at least this way he has a decent excuse for Dean to be so close. And if Elliot even steps one toe into this room, he will _not know what fucking hits him…_

Dean stirs and Sam shushes absently into his hair, stroking a hand down a jagged row of ribs.

Little fucking shit, storming out like that, as though somehow Sam’s the one being unreasonable. Yeah, right, well Sam’s not the one that kicked and teased an abused and bloody sixteen-year-old kid, is he? And if Elliot had a brother, Sam wouldn’t storm into his room and make him feel like the shit he’s convinced he is, because he’s not a little asshole—

“Alpha?” Dean murmurs, his lips wet and delicate at Sam’s throat.

Sam hushes him down again. “S’ok, baby, I’m not mad at you.”

A pause for another second and Sam tries to force the anger down into his gullet for later ranting, when Dean steps in with a whispered, timid, “Elliot?”

So Sam sighs and watches as his brothers hair ( _he needs a trim_ ) blows in its breeze. “Yeah. Yeah I guess so. But you don’t have to worry, Dean, he’s not coming anywhere near you until he can learn that being a sheep isn’t a decent way to go about living.”

And there it is again, that niggle at the back of Sam’s head—the one that’s about to progress into screams and shouts that he’s doing this wrong, he’s screwing his baby brother up more and he’s letting the same crap happen in this pack too, his _own_ fucking pack, the place where Dean is supposed to feel safe and cared for. The place where he’s supposed to _be_ safe and loved, not trampled on and taunted by idiot little boys.

“It’s okay,” Dean tries, an eager edge to his voice that has Sam’s hackles rising in defence, “I’m kinda used to it.”

 _Niggleniggleniggle_ …

Sam sighs before fitting his hands beneath Dean’s arms and hauling him upright, until their faces are bare inches apart and those emerald gems don't have much of a choice but to grimace up at him. “Dean…baby, look. That’s not what this pack—what _my_ pack is about. We don’t want you to be _used_ to abuse, Dean. You deserve the world and more, little one, and whether idiot little beta’s know it or not, you _will_ get that in this pack. I promise you that. Okay?”

The skin (delicate, like a baby bird) around Dean’s eyes crinkles with his apparent confusion (and disbelief, but Sam doesn’t want to acknowledge that), but he nods anyway—as though by now Sam can’t read his tells like an open freaking book.

“Hey, baby,” Sam murmurs, taking Dean’s bruised hand—Ben did that, for fuck’s sake—to his mouth and mumbling the words into the sore flesh. “I know you don’t believe me. It’s okay, I understand why. But Dean…you _can_ trust me. We can give it as long as you need, but at some point, you’ll figure that out. You can trust me, Dean. I’m your alpha now—I’m here for you, little one.”

And Sam’s perfect baby brother nods again, this time with a smoother brow and a clearer clarity, so Sam figures that’s some sort of progress.

Another twenty or so minutes go by and Dean doesn’t so much as cough. He’s tucked his face securely back to Sam’s clavicle and nuzzled there shortly before settling again. Sam continues his soft efforts of stroking along Dean’s spine, his other hand a careful path over Dean’s thigh—his inner wolf and Alpha balking at the ridges of scars that disrupt his movement, even evident through thick, too-big jogging pants. It makes him physically fume, but every stopper he can muster goes on keeping his scent neutral. He owes his Omega that much at least.

A knock on the door sounds at about the four-hour mark and Dean jolts like a wolf just howled right up in his ear. He stiffens, his muscles tightening around a waft of caution emitting from his pours, and Sam desperately wants to tell the interrupter to back the fuck off. He doesn’t, obviously. He’s still an alpha and he wouldn’t ( _can’t_ , he can’t) do that to his pack members. He still has duties.

Still, when Dean’s skin turns to trembling beneath his hands, he wants nothing more than to bury them both under twenty duvets for the next millennium. Instead, he calls, “Come in.”

Maggie pops her head through the door. Her face is bright red like it usually is after games with Uncle Gabe, her hair in short pigtails on top of her head (Castiel clearly distracting her from the shit happening amidst the pack) and a grin that Sam might possibly describe as manic as she peers over at them both. Sam smiles at her.

“Hey, Mag’s. You okay?”

Dean looks up at that. His movements are still choppy and he hasn’t behaved so utterly timid since he first came here (Christ, what did Sam _do_?) but he offers Maggie a timid lifted-lip in acknowledgement. Sam pats his thigh in reward.

“Mm-hum,” Maggie replies cheerfully, hopping further through the door. “Gabriel told me to come and check on you because you’re least likely to bite my head off,” she grins, “and I wanted to see Dean.”

Sam huffs out an incredulous little laugh and lifts his brow humorously to Dean. He just peers back through sand-dipped eyelashes, confused.

“Man’s got a point,” Sam smiles back. “Come on in, kiddo, you can keep us company.”

Dean does actually move at that—lifting off of Sam for short seconds, removing one leg from around Sam’s hip and replacing it next to the other, until he’s sat across Sam’s lap with his ass and feet on the armchair’s cushion. Maggie drops heavily into the beanbag opposite them. Sam kisses Dean’s crown.

“Are you okay, Dean?” she asks, all humour gone and replaced with a seriousness she could only have learnt from Castiel. It makes Sam miss him.

Dean shuffles uncomfortably at the question the same way he did when Cas asked it hours ago, or when Sam asked why he’s acting so strange, or when Ellen nodded knowingly at him back in the hall. It makes Sam pull him in tighter with both arms a solid tether around Dean’s waist. He nuzzles at his brother’s hair and wishes for the billionth time that things had turned out differently.

Dean nods, after a second. He offers the pup a smile in the next, creasing minutely in on himself with renewed shyness.

Sam gets he got mad, but seriously? What the hell happened to his brother?

“Are you sure? You smell weird,” she says, lowering her brow in a concerned, disbelieving fashion.

“Mag’s,” Sam warns lowly and the kid backs off, smiling again.

“But really nice!” Nice save and Sam has to smile if just for the swift change in context. “I’ve never smelt an Omega before but I bet they don’t smell as good as you do.”

Sam smiles and shakes his head at her. Sneaky little shit.

“Uh…” Dean starts, smiling unsurely. “Thanks.”

“S’cool,” she grins.

They sit like that for a few minutes, Dean’s eyes drifting for the first time since they plonked down into the room, taking in the floor to ceiling windows across from them, the mounds of places to sit, the corner of gaming crap and the stupidly huge TV, the fireplace behind them and the pale, blue-grey coloured walls adorned with the kids’ drawings. Maggie just grins at them and Sam smirks back at her, raising his brow in a gesture that means ‘am I doing okay?’ and she nods back with a knowing, close-eyed ‘it appears so’. They grin at each other.

“A-Alpha?”

Sam snarls—a vicious noise from deep in his throat, bubbling up from all the fear and pain and anger at losing his brother, recovering the corpse that he’s devolved into only to bring him safely home and have him attacked in his own pack. It erupts in that one growl and vibrates through him, his gaze landing with ‘you fucking bastard’ eyes at Elliot in the doorway.

Dean jolts at the word, freezes at Sam’s growl and yanks against Sam’s grip at his scent. But he doesn’t let Dean go, he just gathers his baby up into his arms like a toddler he used to be all those centuries ago and sucks in his scent—fear (burning and immediate), disbelieve, sorrow, pain—before barking at Elliot again, who’s stupid enough to still be in the room.

“Get. The _hell_. Away from him,” Sam hisses, his voice vibrating with a rage he at least has the control to keep that lid on and stop the shift nagging at him behind his skin.

Dean struggles in his grip, his breaths turning panicked, and raw and wet, hands grappling at Sam’s own as he fights his way out, away from Sam and protection and safety, and into the path of _dangerdangerdanger_ …

“Alpha,” Maggie this time, not a threat. “Sam, Dean’s scared, please stop it…”

“I’m sorry, Alpha, please,” Elliot says, toeing closer, wanting to hurt Sam’s omega… “I’m sorry I hurt Dean and woke him up and didn’t do what you said, okay? Sam?”

_‘Dean’s scared’ ‘Dean’s scared ‘Dean’s scared’…_

Sam looks down at the shivering lump in his arms and balks. Fuck.

He did that. He made Dean that way, afraid of him and terrified, resorting to safety instincts that bastard drummed into him from years of manipulation and abuse. Sam lets him go quicker than he can gasp in horror and the boy goes tumbling from his grip straight into the thick blue carpet.

Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with them?

Sam leaps to his feet when Dean makes a trembling little ball at his base, vibrating and sobbing into the carpet, tiny, desperate pleas making their way through wet lips because he thinks Sam’s gonna hurt him…his own big brother, _fuck_.

Maggie crowds him gently and tugs him to her, swaddling him with her small body. “S’okay, omega,” she assures into his ear, “Alpha won’t hurt you. Alpha loves you. Alpha’s just scared for you, but it’s okay. I know he’ll keep you safe, omega, I promise I do.”

“Elliot, get out.” Sam snaps quietly, not even looking towards the door. “And you don’t come back until I speak with you, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” And the door closes behind him.

Sam ducks slowly to the pair’s height, palms offered and timid because he’s perfectly aware of his brother’s bewildered, panicked gaze pinned to him beneath the arm of Sam’s borrowed shirt. And when Dean lifts slightly to bare his throat, trembling and flushed, Sam slumps into sitting and rests his forearms on his knees.

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” he sighs, dragging a hand over his face. “You deserve more than this, baby, you really do. I’m not gonna hurt you, Dean, it’s okay. It’s okay, little one, I’m sorry.”

Maggie spends a few minutes combing Dean’s hair in her position over him, smelling his shoulder, and giving him a wrist to scent at like she does every Thursday night with baby Jemma. He rolls over though, then rolls forward until he’s sitting, breathing in her scent with an innocently confused expression as she kneels over his lap. She leans in, slowly, like she’s gonna startle a wild animal, before wrapping her arms around his neck and offering her throat up for a decent scenting. Dean accepts and holds her back, hands timid and unsure on her tartan dress.

Maggie glares at Sam over one tense shoulder and strokes at Dean’s back. There’s something suspiciously Godfather-like about the motion that has Sam smiling slightly, before shaking his head slowly in self-sacrifice. God, he’s getting brother lessons from a nine-year-old girl. That’s not normal, surely?

“Alpha’s sorry, Omega. It’s okay to go back to him now.”

Dean stiffens again, his body tensing up from the tone Maggie had just coaxed him gently into and he follows her slightly as she starts lifting up, before remembering himself and jolting back down. He turns his head slightly, using his other senses to see Sam before he actually sees him, lifting just a few more inches until those green eyes lock with hazel and Sam smiles shyly.

“Hey there, beautiful,” he greets, tilting his head. “Will you come sit with me again?”

Dean pauses and thinks it through, cogs whirring almost painfully in his brain for long seconds before he just nods again and clambers slowly forwards. Sam embraces him with wide arms and tugs him in for purchase, safe and warm and close.

Dean mumbles something into his shoulder.

“What was that, pup?” Sam nudges.

“M’sorry,” he whispers again and Sam’s heart breaks all fucking over for the hundredth time that day.

“No, Dean,” he says quickly. “No, you hear me? That was completely my fault, okay? You had nothing to do with that, I shouldn’t have gotten mad again, I should have freaking realised after this morning that it was goddam _stu_ -…anyway, baby, just… Don’t apologise for something that isn’t your fault and never was, okay? Dean?”

And Dean, always the appeaser, just nods.

*

Castiel comes to bring them lunch a little after that, once Maggie’s gone off because Alfie said he’d play with her after Doctor Who, once they’ve moved onto a two seat couch so they could spread out a bit and once Sam had taken Dean for a bathroom break to wait outside the door for him.

Dean ducks for the eleventh time that day and buries his face into Sam’s shirt collar like before, nudging until his nose is buried beneath the fabric. Cas just places the sandwiches (a burger for Dean, he couldn’t get enough in heat mode) down on the coffee table in front of them and offers Sam a sad little ‘I don’t get what I’ve done wrong’ look that makes him want to drag the Beta to his side and scent him like no tomorrow. But he doesn’t because for some reason or other, Dean won’t want that. So Sam just shrugs with a sad little frown and nods because he’ll find out what’s going on.

Cas just smiles sadly and glances down at the now ball-like Dean, before taking a hasty leave.

Sam has every intention to get to the bottom of this ignoring-Castiel thing once they’ve both been fed but like always, Dean has a way of evading expectation.

“Sorry,” he whispers in a strained voice, blinking over to the door and back up at Sam. “I’m sorry, alpha, I just, I don’t…I’m not…mmm,” he finishes in a whine, having practically climbed Sam’s body until he’s eye level with him, kneeling up slightly and clutching Sam’s collar, lip caught between his teeth. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam soothes, stroking a hand down his face. “It’s alright, little one, he’s just worried, is all. Is there a reason you don’t want to talk to him?”

And Dean flushes like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, his lip worried between his teeth like he’s about to gnaw it clean off if Sam doesn’t do something. Sam kisses it gently instead and lowers a hand to Dean’s backside, rubbing the soft flesh and waiting for the relaxed keen he learned four days ago that particular act would earn him. He hushes at Dean’s hair.

“You don’t have to answer me, little one, we just wanted to know if he’s done something. He’s my mate, Dean; it’s just hard for—”

“I _pushed_ him,” Dean gapes, his face more open than Sam’s seen it for days. “I hurt him, I…he was so nice to me and I hurt him. I don’t deserve anything anymore.” He glances at the burger. “I’m not hungry.” And slouches into the back couch cushion.

Melodramatic thing he is.

Sam sighs and leans over him, breathing soft huffs against Dean’s neck (not in the same way as before, the way that got Dean wriggling like a madman against his knot) lining his fingers up with the backs of Dean’s.

“You didn’t eat breakfast either, Dean. Don’t start that please, I won’t have you hurt yourself.”

Mumbled words again, Sam doesn’t catch them, “What, Dean?”

The omega lifts from the couch and turns slightly, until their noses are almost touching and Sam can practically taste Dean.

“I don’t belong here.”

And if that isn’t a punch straight in the gut, then Sam doesn’t know what is. “What?” he asks, begs, his voice smaller than any Alpha’s ever should be.

Dean recoils, but keeps going. “You have a mate. You have…you have a system and I’m ruining that for you, I don’t belong in it. You have a healthy pack; I don’t understand why you’d ruin it with a filthy omega. You…you told me to tell the truth, Alpha. You don’t even—you don’t even punish me when I hurt your mate and I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing here, I don’t have a purpose or anything, I don’t understand. I don’t understand. I don’t understand…”

Sam doesn’t hold him when he cries, not this time. Instead he asks, “What do you want me to do, Dean? You want me to take you back to…to that _bastard_? He _hurt_ you Dean, I would _never_ do that.”

Dean sniffs and kneels, head bowed on the sofa, but he twitches towards the floor. “I’m confused, Alpha,” he whispers into his chest, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, please…”

“Whatever you want!” Sam exclaims, hands up in the air. “That’s the point, Dean, baby, that’s the goddamn _point_. You’re not some glorified pet, Dean; you’re a human being, for Christ’s sake, and you should be treated like one. You should _act_ like one. Look at yourself, you have burn scars all over you, you can’t even lift your arms because of your ribs… Only because he treated you like crap and not because you did anything deserving of that. No one in this pack deserves that, especially not _you_.”

“Alpha…” his voice trembles, wet. “I’m not worth this. I don’t understand, I can’t be what you want me to be, _please_ …”

“I want you to be _you_ , Dean, it’s not hard. You just have to be yourself and not some doll Alastair shaped to do his bidding.”

And when those oak-leaf hued eyes peek up again, there’s so much sorrow and exhaustion and need, that Sam doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Dean gulps wetly. “I’ve never been allowed.”

Fuck. Fuck that, because he _is_ allowed here and he’ll be helped here and treated right and loved and _saved_ because Sam can do this. He scoops him into a tight, promising hug. “You are here, baby. Fuck, Dean, I’ll help you, okay? I’ll make sure you’re safe, baby, I promise, you’ll be safe finding yourself here, little one. I won’t punish you when you make mistakes, Dean. I won’t punish you when you shout at me for being a bitch or for telling Cas he’s a weirdo little geek. You’re a good kid, Dean. A good kid and you’re gonna grow up to be a confident young omega by my side, I’ll teach you. I _promise_ you. Trust me, little pup.”

Dean cries. Wet, desperate keens and sobs, tears soaking through Sam’s shirts as they tug tighter together in a helpless little knot of perfect limbs, holding for purchase until Sam’s eyes fill too and nothing else matters in this world outside of Dean’s reluctantly believing scent, his hands clawing frantically into Sam’s sides. This…this is heaven. Right here, on some shabby old couch Lisa brought from her old apartment, with Dean coiled up at Sam’s throat…this is what heaven’s made of.

Minutes, hours, centuries pass, before his little life looks up and says, “Bitch, huh?”

And then Sam’s guffawing, and isn’t that kinda crazy.

=*=*=*=

Things feel pretty different after Alpha and Dean actually talk. Dean’s pretty sure it was one of the most terrifying processes of his entire omega life, but now that’s it’s over with—and how effed up is this—he actually feels _relieved_. Lucid, even, happy with how things are. More confident. One little chat and shit lifts from his chest that’s been resting there for the last two weeks and Dean’s never felt more relieved in his life.

He was sure Sam was gonna flip his shit, but honestly, that was kinda the plan. Sam should have punished him, told him he belonged here whether he fucking liked it or not, but—like he’s been doing since that first encounter—Alpha avoided Dean’s expectation like it was his job to.

Dean apologises officially to Cas (with his mouth wet against that awesome throat), his hands under his pale blue shirt to palm at a warm back, and Sam had rolled his eyes, but smirked to let Dean know he wasn’t serious. It’s goddamn _crazy_ …but it’s good. Dean likes it, at least, which is odd in itself.

Dean spends the rest of the day sat in the kitchen—still pretending he doesn’t exist because there’s not exactly a quick cure-all for hating attention—but it’s not horrendous. The others ignore him for the most part, excusing the odd hair brushed with soft fingers or a quick kiss to the top of the head, on the mouth where Gabriel’s concerned, but most of the time they don’t even seem to notice they do it. Dean looks over at Alpha with wide eyes that hopefully portray confusion, but Alpha just sways up behind him on the high-stool—still at least a head taller, the mammoth—and droops his arms down over Dean’s chest, breath warm in his ear.

“We’re learning, remember? This is what a real life is like for an Omega. Love. Acceptance. You smell like home incarnated now, Dean, and everyone wants a part of that. They want to take care of their home. It’s okay.”

It’s kinda creepy, actually, but no-one’s tried anything weird, so Dean guesses it’s okay.

Until Elliot comes in. _Shit_.

Dean’s seriously getting tired of this crap right now.

“Alpha,” Dean tries warningly, softly, peering up at him with pleading eyes to _fuck, please, don’t get angry again, I feel good, you feel like home_.

But Sam doesn’t flip out like before. He doesn’t growl or smell like he’s about to shift right there in the kitchen anymore, he just nods his head in their direction as calm as you like and straightens when Elliot starts their way. Ben behind him. Huh.

“Elliot,” Sam starts, pinning him to the tiles with strong, alpha eyes, no fury anymore, though Dean suspects it wasn’t for Elliot anyway, not _really_. “Something you wanna say?”

Elliot gulps in a breath and looks right at Dean. “I’m sorry. For waking you up and then hurting you and letting Tom do it too. I’m sorry. I won’t ever do it again, I promise.” His pale eyes move up to Alpha beneath long blonde bangs, hopeful and expectant. Alpha must nod or something, because then Elliot’s looking back at Dean with an almost smile, almost shy, and Dean looks up to Alpha, brow raised. Sam nods with a smirk and Dean looks back.

“Uh,” he tries, glancing over to an encouragingly smiling Castiel, stood over beside Gabriel and the cooker. “It’s okay, I guess. You didn’t…you didn’t really touch me, so…it’s fine.” Dean tries to smile but he’s pretty sure it doesn’t work.

Elliot grins then, toothy and wide, before stepping back slightly for Ben to come forward, a timid little look on his face. Despite everything, Dean didn’t forget what Ellen had said, about the two being friends once this had all bottled down—sure, when she said it he’d disregarded it because he was sure he was about to be ripped to shreds by a brand new alpha, but now…now he feels good. And he’d like a friend, to be honest. He hasn’t had one anywhere near his age since he was seven because those other omegas don’t count…

“Alpha,” Ben starts, looking up at Sam. “I’m sorry.” He sounds mature, serious. “You told me to look after him and I didn’t and I’m sorry I let Thomas into his room. And Dean I’m sorry I landed on you.” He exhales, like he’d been rehearsing and he’s just glad to get it done and out. Dean smiles shortly at him.

“It’s alright, Ben, I understand what you did, and it’s okay. I’m sorry for behaving so rashly,” Sam says, his voice full of the same finality Ben’s was seconds before. They both smile warmly at each other and Dean expects they go back some. Ben looks to Dean.

“Thanks,” Dean whispers, wishing no one else had to hear this, let alone the whole kitchen, “for sticking up for me. I—uh…yeah, just…thanks.”

Ben blinks, as though that’s not what he was expecting to hear in the slightest, his scent laced with the sweet kind of surprised people get on birthday’s, just less…showy. He smiles up at Dean on the stool and Sam squeezes Dean’s shoulder, leaning into him until Dean’s back is pressed to Sam’s firm, perfect front.

“Hey, you wanna come play with us outside?” Elliot says suddenly, hopping forward next to Ben. He looks up at Alpha eagerly. “We were gonna shift and race out in the woods behind the garden…”

He trails off at Dean’s scent—taught and weird, annoyed for the thousandth time that he can’t fit in with the rest of the kids.

“I, uh…I can’t shift. Sorry,” he says, bowing subconsciously back into Sam’s peck. He looks away at the droop of Elliot’s mouth; Ben’s cocked head as though he’d only just remembered how useless omegas were from biology lessons at school.

An awkward air plummets the kitchen and Dean squirms, before jolting in practiced surprise at Sam’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing comfortingly tight at the taut muscle. “Another day, I’m sure Dean would like to go outside with you,” Alpha says, his other hand weaving over Dean’s waist. “But for now, I think Dean needs to recover a little better. Thank you for the offer, though.”

And the boys just nod, wait a few seconds, then all but dart from the room, pushing and shoving at one another with high pitched shrieks, already slipping out of their jackets in their haste to shift. Dean can hear their catcalls all the way down the hall and he’s jealous. He never got to be that as a kid—not just the shifting thing, though that dip put a stopper on it—but at their age, he was sat at his Master’s lap like a good little omega should be. He never got to screech and run around.

Sam’s mouth makes room for itself at the dip in Dean’s throat, just below his collar.

“You really wanna go outside, baby?” he asks, and Dean can all but feel the frown at Alpha’s brow. So he shakes his head and offers a smile.

“No. I’m fine, just uh…I dunno. Nothing, I guess,” he finishes lamely, glimpsing over to Castiel and his brother—stood close enough to scent, their hips touching gently where they’re leant against the stove and smiling widely together. Dean wonders sometimes what it would be like to have a brother. He bets he’d be an awesome big one.

“Hey,” Sam prompts, Dean awards his gaze. “You can go outside you know, whenever you want to. I’m not stopping you, Dean; I just don’t want you getting sick or hurt on me right now. Or ever, actually, but…I want you next to me while you're still learning. Where I can keep an eye on you.”

Dean smiles up at him: genuine and caring and it feels strange on his face but Alpha’s happy so he doesn’t care all the much. He ducks into Sam’s throat and stays there for as long as he’s allowed, until Garth—the skinny dude with the How To For Dummy’s book (Dean found out it was for Jailbreaking, which is slightly worrying)—toddles in with Bobby (the gruff older man from before) at his tail and Sam goes over to speak with them. Dean sits awkwardly and waits for something to happen.

“Dean!”

Dean jolts his head up quicker than he’d planned and has to wait for his eyes to dim again before Jo comes into view. She trots over to him and delves her hands into his hair, pushing the strands into complacency and Dean’s starting to think it’s a family trait. Still, her wrist’s right there and he scents it.

“Up and about again, huh?” She grins, holding his head up to hers. “Well, good for you, handsome.”

He smiles at her optimistic, pretty face. He likes Jo, he realises, slightly belatedly—and not the way he liked Azazel or Ruby or any other members of Alpha’s pack—but willingly, with trust and everything. It’s a good feeling, friendship. Dean missed it.

Dean spends the rest of the night in the kitchen, which seems to be the social hub of the house, and Dean can get that—his bedroom/ex-kitchen had been next to Master’s new kitchens and sometimes Dean was allowed to sit in there, if Master had guests around that didn't want him near their own Omega's or he was out with most of the pack with him and it was always so busy. It’s nice, to be honest. Everyone’s nice to him in here.

Three days later—of Dean comfortable in his skin for the first time since he can remember, sleeping between Alpha and Castiel and lying in because Cas has a while off work and Alpha has to go down to his office—is when Lucifer turns up and offers his price.


	7. They Say The Worst Is Over

“Is it David?” Maggie asks, lifting one finger to hover over one of the last remaining tabs in front of her, staring at Dean gleefully because she undoubtedly already knows she’s won.

Dean grins despite his 'loss'. “Yeah.” He flips over the card and shows her.

“Yes!” She caws, pumping both fists into the air and waving them in the little happy dance she seems to have perfected over the last three times she’s beaten him. He wonders if there's some knack to Guess Who he hasn't caught onto yet. He doesn't think so. _Guess_ , right?

“Congratulations,” Dean smiles instead, flipping all his tabs up again and shuffling for a fourth card of the games they’ve played, rifling to find a good one he hasn’t already used.

“Ugh, I don’t wanna play it _again_. No fun if I keep winning,” Maggie says—that glint in her eye reminding Dean he doesn’t actually have to fear punishment from her, the nine year old pup—and she flops back to the carpet in childish drama. He can appreciate that and he ducks his head, smiling shortly. “What else d’you wanna do?” she asks from one eye.

Dean shrugs as he watches her from his own perch on a beanbag, and silently deems her reaction as to whether or not that’s something he’s allowed to do—he’s been doing it with a lot of the others recently. So far nothing but calm leniency or weird looking smirks. Sam usually just kisses him with that cute (ha, Alpha's _cute_ ) dimpled grin, and Castiel pats his hair down with more reserve or scents up at him. Both's fine. Great, actually. Awesome. Perfect.

“You wanna watch something? Alfie said he recorded Doctor Who for you because there’s a planet on it run by Omega’s.”

Alfie (the recorder in question) is a pup just older than Maggie, with stark red hair and dark green eyes—a quiet, determined demeanour about him. The first time they’d met was two days ago when Castiel had taken Dean to the library to pick up Harry Potter (they've made it to the second already) and take it upstairs with them (Dean said he didn’t mind tagging along, but really he just didn’t want to be left alone). Alfie had been perched haphazardly on one of the top banisters reading some kind of horror book (Stephen King), and he’d only bothered looking down because he’d smelt Dean. When he did actual toddle over to investiage, he’d just moved his gaze silently from Castiel's ass rooting to find Harry Potter again to Dean, who was stood inches from him, blinking unsurely. In the end, the boy had just presented him with a wrapped lolly-pop produced from nowhere and been on his way, not a word spoken. Dean likes him, he’s pretty sure.

Since that particular encounter, Dean’s met two more pups of the pack—Julia: a blonde, loud girl not much younger than Dean, and Timmy: Julia’s complete polar opposite and even younger than Maggie. Julia had simply sniffed at him in passing through the kitchen, before donning this gigantic, terrifying grin and offering bullishly to show him the bedrooms upstairs. Sam had swiftly but forcefully declined for him (thank God) and Dean had spent the following hour curled against his lap in his office. Awesome day, by the way. Timmy was one hundred percent less intimidating—since all he did was scent at Dean, widen his eyes to saucers and leg it straight into the living room without even one word passed between them. Cas had reasoned he’s a just timid pup but Dean figures it must have something to do with his scent. Not entirely sure what could cause that reaction, but oh well, right?

Dean blinks back down to Maggie’s eager little face and remembers her offer. “Sure,” he says.

“Great,” she grins back, leaping into standing to abandon the Guess Who box altogether, before grabbing at Dean’s sleeve and dragging him to unsteady feet too. She pulls him over to the other side of the living room—where the ridiculously sized TV sits atop the wall—and sits him down on the second giant sized beanbag of the day. Plonking down next to him, she fiddles with some remote or another—hell if Dean knows. Alastair never used to like him watching TV back _There_ , used to say it was just gonna upset him because all the stuff worth watching is totally against omega’s, so yeah, Dean had never really bothered with it. And he’s only watched pre-recorded shows or 'DVDs' here twice with Maggie and Cas, which he figures must be because they don’t want him seeing stuff either. Figures. They’re good at protecting him like that.

The starting tune and background is just filling the otherwise abandoned living room when Ellen and Jo walk in, looking somewhat more flustered than their usual awesome selves. Dean sinks down lower in instinct and eyes them, destracted, over the top of his chair.

“Dean, baby, come sit with me, will you?” Ellen prompts, dropping herself to an overstuffed armchair Dean had curled in with Sam a few days ago—he practically _claws_ from his seat to leg it over to her waiting, expanded arms, all but shoving himself into the welcoming space. He scents at her throat and huffs regretfully at the bitter edge burrowing itself into his sinuses. He blinks up at her, worried. “S’okay, honey,” she soothes, tracing his hairline with two soft fingertips. “Just an unwelcome visitor, is all.”

Oh. Wait, _what?_

Dean’s totally positive he hasn’t a clue what the hell’s going down on the other side of the door—but if it really is an 'unwelcome visitor', then that means Alpha has to deal with it. That means he’s gonna be just as flustered if not _more_ than Ellen and Jo and that means Cas will be too and they’ll smell weird like before and shift, maybe, get sad or angry and…oh God.

Dean practically leaps against the hold around his middle when the bark of a shout (not just any voice though, _Sam’s_ ) sounds from just outside the door, a litany of raised words Dean guesses are directed at this seriously Unwelcome Visitor. Ellen holds him back though and hushes into his hair, stroking it calmly back from his face and nudging her palm along his still healing side…but she’s not calm…she’s still all weird smelling and her breathing’s not steady or rhythmic like it usually is so something shit must seriously be going on just bare metres away from their room. It raises Dean’s hackles like no tomorrow and he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like it at all…

“Hey, Mags, what you watching?” Jo’s voice—distant, back where he used to be sat with Maggie—but not normal either, like Ellen’s. Dean needs to know what’s happening. Why he’s being kept in here if Alpha and Cas… _shit_. What if it’s Master, come back for him? Coming to take him back to his pack and wouldn’t that just be freaking typical, Dean’s been spending the last few weeks or so needing his Master for familiarity and the second he gets comfortable again, up he pops. Typical. Fucking typical.

Dean doesn’t realise he’s trembling until Ellen lifts him upright again and manoeuvres his limbs until their straddling her lap, and his nose is nudging just beneath the collar of her open shirt. “It’s okay, honey, Sam’s not gonna let him anywhere near you, I promise. Shh, sweetheart, s’okay.”

Dean sobs a bewildered breath into her shoulder because whoever the fuck it is is here for _him_. And yeah, sure, Sam said he’s teaching Dean and taking care of him, but so was Master and he let Dean go just like _that_ , there’s no telling whether this Alpha might do the same, Dean doesn’t know, he doesn’t know him that well and with a decent enough price, who knows, in the next few days, Dean might be one of those omega’s tied to the banister and fucked by everyone who walks by…

“Hey, hey,” Ellen coaxes, lifting his head by one firm hand at the back of his neck and peering forcefully into his swimming eyes. He sniffs as he forces his own gaze to stay on hers. They get annoyed here if he drops it to the floor like Master wanted and Dean can’t change rules so quickly again, he doesn’t have the capacity to learn more so soon… “None of that, pup, come on now, baby, shh.”

“What’s going on?” Maggie’s voice sounds from too far away, quiet and too timid for the bolshie little kid. Dean sobs another breath because if Maggie’s freaked then there’s definitely something to freak about and Dean doesn’t want her like that. Hell, Ellen and Jo are, there must be some reason to be…

“Nothing, kiddo, everything’s cool,” Jo offers to soothe no-one in particular because it doesn’t work on anyone; every single breath Dean pushes out against Ellen seems to ramp up her own panic and Maggie’s quieter than Dean’s ever heard her, she must be freaking out Jo…

What the fuck is going on?

Maggie whimpers and muffles some of it against what Dean’s gonna guess is Jo when another wave of shouts pushes itself through the gaps in the doors.

“L-Lucifer?” Maggie asks.

Lucifer? Dean knows that name and it’s ringing alarm bells.

“...Yeah, kiddo, I’m sorry. But Sammy’s not about to let him anywhere near you, okay? Everything’s fine, Maglet, they’re going great, I promise.”

“Lucifer?” Dean whispers, peering closer to Ellen. She tucks him in to accommodate.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

“But…” Dean pauses and feels out the cogs whirring haphazardly inside his head. Wait…Crap! “But…but _Cas!_ ” Dean hisses so Maggie can’t hear, raising his arms because he can do that now, they’ve healed well enough, and clutching onto the shirt at Ellen’s shoulders. He urges her to understand and eyes her meaningfully, nudging against her because it’s not safe for him out there with his old Alpha who raped him and pawned him out and _cut bits off_ …

Ellen sighs and strokes his hair, “I know, baby, hush, I know. But Sam’s gonna protect him with everything he has, trust me. It’s Lucifer in the wrong Pack land, kiddo, he has every right to end him if he has to.” Dean peers over at the door, unconvinced, so she sighs again and pushes a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “If he even looks at Cas the wrong way, Sam will kill him, you understand that, right? Like Thomas, baby, he’s not gonna stand for anyone hurting his pack. Actually, I’m guessing he’s just waiting for an excuse to rip that bastards head off.” She smiles warmly. “Nothing to worry about, honey, it’s okay.”

Doesn’t really consolidate all that much if you ask Dean, because whether or not Lucifer tries anything, Cas is still gonna get hurt. He’s only ever mentioned the Alpha to Dean twice since he’s been here and each time he’s gulped or nuzzled into Dean because he’s been angry or scared or vengeful and Dean doesn’t like him being any of those things. He wants to be there for his Beta. He _needs_ to be there.

“S’he here for Dean?” Maggie says, quietly, but sure as hell not quietly enough.

Dean darts his gaze to a close-eyed, exasperated Ellen and gawps at her.

“Shh, kiddo,” Jo consolidates but their silence and hastiness is answer enough. Dean’s not stupid. He knows now. Oh God. “Sam’s gonna figure it all out.”

Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god…

“Why does he want me?” Dean begs, crawling closer and clutching his hands like a vice at Ellen wherever he can fit them, sticking his face at the joint between shoulder and neck in a pointless protest because _he doesn’t want to leave_.

Doesn’t mean he won’t be made to though. Oh _god_.

“Hey, you listen here,” Ellen says firmly, clutching Dean back. “Sam’s not gonna let that happen, you hear? He’s gonna take care of you, baby, I promise.”

“Hey, Dean?” Jo calls from her place wound beneath Maggie. Dean peers around Ellen’s throat to eye her timidly. She smiles. “Alpha’s not letting you go for anything, little guy. You’re good. Trust me.”

And it’s right about then that the door to the living room opens and Dean’s pretty sure he’s about to faint when the scent of a foreign Pack drifts through. He doesn’t look. He can’t.

“Get out,” Ellen snaps, Dean coils closer like a dying snake.

The stranger clicks her tongue. “No can do, lady,” she says, her voice closer than it should be. “Gonna need that omega now, so if you don’t mind…”

No. Please, God, no, Dean doesn’t want to leave, please…

“Fuck you,” Jo hisses.

“Guys, just…” Gabriel? That’s Gabriel. “Just do it, okay?”

He sounds serious, Dean doesn’t think he’s ever heard the man sound serious before. He wouldn’t go against Alpha, he’s so close to him, that must mean Sam’s condoning this, shit, _please_ no.

Dean looks widely over at him and notices that stern expression first, the slight smile he offers Dean when he puts out his hand in invitation, flicking his fingers for Dean to conform. He looks sad.

The Gamma beside him—smaller with long, dark, wavy hair, a leather jacket and a smirk—flicks her eyebrows up at him and motions with her hand that he’s undoubtedly supposed to go with them. He doesn’t want to go with them. He does anyway.

Ellen tries to hold on to him when he crawls slowly from her lap, fitting fingers into the waistband of his joggers until Dean has to lick at her slightly to be released. The others stay silent from behind him but Dean can hear Maggie’s breathing and he can smell Jo’s anger. But they must understand too. Because if this is coming from Gabriel, then it’s coming from Alpha and they’d never go against him.

Dean avoids the stranger with as wide a birth as he can get away with, crowding over to Gabriel with his eyes to the floor and he tucks himself beneath the waiting hand. The Gamma kisses the crown of his head and leads him out the door. Dean says a silent goodbye to the room. He’ll probably never see it again. He just hopes Lucifer will let him say goodbye to the others.

“Ah, here he is,” comes a voice when they’re out of the room—slimy and fucking hideous, but Dean doesn’t have a choice because it’s Alpha so he still needs it. “Come, Omega, stand here for us. Good boy.”

Dean glances up slightly and balks at the sight he’s managed to mingle himself into for the second goddamn time. A blonde man—Lucifer—is motioning to the centre of two semi-circles, one formed from his own pack and the other of Alpha’s. Sam and Cas are stood in the bend of one, opposite Lucifer, but Dean tries not to look at them. He doesn’t want to see their faces. Instead, he leaves Gabriel and follows his directions to stand where he’s been told, his hands clasped in front of him and his eyes on his socked feet, shadowed against the pale oak wood flooring.

“My, my,” Lucifer says, circling closer. “What a stunning specimen. I understand why you cheated us now, Sammy.”

Alpha growls low in his throat and Dean flinches away from it. Lucifer toes close enough to stroke a hand over his head and he tuts at Sam, palming his fingers through Dean’s hair. _Get off._

“Calm down, Little Alpha, you’re scaring our poor boy.”

“You get your fucking hands away from him, you understand me?” Alpha snarls out, his voice echoing the hallway. “Don’t you _fucking_ touch him, you bastard.”

…What? Why is he getting mad about another Alpha touching him if he’s just led Dean straight into Lucifer’s grasp…God, Dean’s so confused. But a tinge of hope makes itself known in his chest none the less.

“Oh, Sammy,” Lucifer sighs in mock exasperation. He flexes his hand and Dean hisses through his teeth as it grips onto his hair, yanking it at the roots. “You don’t get to call those shots anymore.”

“He’s mine. I swear to God, you bastard, he’s _mine_ ,” Sam growls.

“Mm,” Lucifer hums, releasing Dean. Instead, he moves back slightly until he’s _right there_ , tilting a finger beneath Dean’s chin and raising his head. He smiles when he matches Dean’s eyes, icy blue on olive green. “Pretty, pretty,” he says, grinning. “Now Dean, I know you’re a good boy, yes?” Dean nods his head slowly when there’s a pause for him to do so. “Good. So I want you to do exactly as you’re told, okay?” Another small, unwilling nod. “Perfect.” He steps back and Dean can breathe again. “Now. Take off your clothes.”

Dean’s gonna be sick. He’s gonna throw up all over Lucifer and they’ll all punish him for being that animal like before, useless and disgusting and even Sam won’t want anything to do with him.

Dean doesn’t dare look back at him.

“You sick fuck, _fuck you_!” Alpha shouts and Dean ducks again, flinches and he’d be on the floor except he’s been told to listen and stand and this is another Alpha so Dean has to comply.

“Hush, Sam. Dean. Clothes. Now.”

And dammit, Dean does.

His shirt slips off first because Cas (oh, Cas, _please_ ) only bothered fastening a few buttons that morning (they’d been kinda busy) and it’s huge and Alpha’s so it falls to the floor in under two seconds. Dean doesn’t pause before he steps out of the sweat-pants. He doesn’t dare. But he flicks them to the side, too.

Lucifer whistles at him and Dean can feel the flush make its way through his whole body. Bare again. Maybe he’ll have to get used to it if this is something Lucifer likes.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he says to his pack and they snigger all in one go. Dean starts to tremble as everything files in. Another rejection soon. Fuck, _no_.

“I’ll kill you,” and his voice is like a glacier; cold and deadly.

“Oh, quiet, you melodramatic thing. I’m simply proving a point.” Lucifer comes close again and this time Dean does flinch. He trails a hand over Dean’s collarbone and laces it over his shoulder, down one shoulder blade. “He’s yours, is he?” he asks, Sam just growls. “Well then, pray tell. Where’s your mark?” He traces is fingers down to the back of one thigh and rests it there for a second, trailing over the long healed scar. “I count Alastair’s,” he says. Dean remembers that. He’d been eight at the time and Alastair said he did it there so that every time Dean sat on his ass, he would feel it. And feel it he did. “But no Sammy’s.”

“Look at him,” Sam growls. “He’s still injured from weeks ago; I wasn’t about to hurt him anymore than I had to. But I mated him. Which means he belongs to me.”

“Oh, you _mated_ him now?” Lucifer’s hand doesn’t leave Dean’s thigh and it’s like ice. “A few minutes ago, you paid for him.”

“Both, you fuck. He’s mine.”

“See now, Sammy. I know that you know that this,” he gestures to Dean, smiling, “isn’t how omega trading goes. You don’t buy one. You apply.”

“I couldn’t give two flying _fucks_. Dean is mine and you will get your hand off of him.” Lucifer complies, which surprises Dean. Not that he isn’t grateful, because he is.

“But you know that, don’t you?” Lucifer backs off and Dean turns to Sam now, pleading and begging with his eyes. “That’s why I’m not puppy meat on your nice oak floor isn’t it? You know he doesn’t _really_ belong to you. Sure, you offered Alastair a healthy price, but that doesn’t mean much when you attack him on his own land, does it?”

“He hurt Dean,” Sam supplies, chin up. Castiel offers Dean a tight smile. “I had every right to defend my own.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Lucifer growls, throwing his hands in the air. “Get it into your thick skull, you fucking idiot!” He edges towards Sam. “He wasn’t yours to _defend_.”

“I’m warning you now,” Sam starts, his voice vibrating in a growing snarl.

“Oh, calm down, little one,” Lucifer grins. _Is he crazy? He must be crazy._ “I’ll pay you back, everything you let go on him. Perfectly fair price, considering I’m buying used goods here. And I know how much you love purchasing things that don’t belong to you, Mr Big Bad Businessman.”

And then…something in Dean snaps. Something pitiful and locked away from days with Master but it comes bursting now, as he falls to his knees, it explodes from him and he starts sobbing.

“Please, Alpha, Master, _please_ ,” he begs, crawling up to Sam and pawing at his jeans. “I’ll be better,” he offers, “I promise, I’ll be what you want, I swear, please just give me another chance and I’ll be everything you want, okay? I’ll-I’ll,” Dean wracks his brain, “I’ll fuck you, okay? Whenever you want, I’ll stay in your bed f-for when you want me and I…I’ll stay with you, okay? Whenever you want me, I’ll be there. And I-I’ll make you happy, okay? You and Cas and anyone you—”

“Hush, Dean,” someone says, pulling him gently from Alpha’s leg, like he’s a china plate about to break under their hands. But they’re pulling him away from his chance to redeem himself and he should fight them but he can’t because Castiel belongs to Alpha and he should be showing respect and Cas is good to him and he needs Alpha to know he’ll be docile…he lets Cas pull him away but his eyes don’t leave Sam. “Calm down, little one, it’s alright.”

It’s not. It’s not alright.

It’s not alright when his new Master walks away from him. It’s not alright when Lucifer grins up at him, and it’s not alright when Alpha punches him. Nothing’s going to be alright again.

“…is one major flaw in your little plan, Lucifer,” Alpha’s saying, grabbing Lucifer’s collar and hauling him close. Dean hides his head when the room fills with offensive and defensive growls. _Please don’t shift, please don’t shift._

“You…” Lucifer spits something to the floor and it hits wetly near Dean’s feet. “You took something from me. You took several something’s from me. I’m simply returning the favour.”

“Not good enough. Now I’m warning you—fairly—that if you don’t remove both yourself and your pathetic excuse for a Pack from my land, I will end every single one of you. And rest assured, there will be no witnesses left to defend the massacre. Am I understood?”

“Perfectly,” Lucifer hisses. Dean peeks up just enough to watch the wink he gives Dean’s Master through an already swelling eye. “I’ll be back to discuss specifics.”

Definitely crazy.

Master bolts out a hand and wraps it around Lucifer’s throat, halting him in his escape. “No. You will never set foot on this land again, or I swear to God, Lucifer, I’ll make it slow. You’ll beg for death.”

Yup, Dean’s crying again. But he needs to stop because he needs to be good for this Master and Alpha, he will be good because he promised he would be. He has to be because Lucifer’s crazy and Dean doesn’t want to be with him.

He curls back into Castiel when the foreign pack starts filing out. There’s kids in it, kids younger than Maggie. Cas said he has an Omega, right? Lilith? Where’s she? And why the hell does he want Dean if he’s already got one? ( _So he can pawn you off to other packs and still keep a nice one to himself._ )

Dean’s finding it slightly difficult to breathe right now.

“Dean? Baby, come here.”

Dean scrambles like a wild thing to obey, gawping around until he finds Master stood bare metres away and he half crawls half runs over there, dropping to his knees inches from Alpha’s toes and trembling at the need.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” Master soothes from all the way up there. Standing. _Alpha_. “He’s gone. He’s not touching you.”

“Thank you,” Dean sobs, inching just that little bit closer until he’s breathing against Alpha’s denim clad leg that smells like home and pack. “I’ll be real good, okay? Thank you, Master, th-thank you, I’ll do exactly what I’m told and I-I’ll wear a collar if you want, Alpha, I’ll be really, really good for you, I—”

“Jesus, Dean,” he’s done something wrong, he’s messed up already, oh god, oh god…

“Please,” he mewls, ducking closer, “I’m sorry, please, just…”

“No, Dean, don’t do this again, please baby, come on,” and then Alpha’s here and he’s pulling Dean to him and offering his scent like Dean’s actually done something to deserve it. What the hell… “You remember, little one, huh? You remember when we were talking the other day and I told you not to be this, right? You’re not my pet, baby, and I’m not your Master. You’re safe, little pup, you’re so safe here and no-one can take you away from me, okay? I won’t let them.”

Dean stiffens. He…he does remember. He remembers Alpha telling him not to act like this wet blanket creature so he’s done something wrong again, he’s fucked up for the final time and now he’ll be punished, “I’m s-sorry.”

“And we don’t apologise, do we? Not for something we haven’t done wrong, baby, you’ve done nothing wrong, I just need you to remember, okay? I need you to remember how you were before this and how happy everyone is with you now, so happy that you’re better baby, come on, Dean, please.”

“ _You’re not some glorified pet, Dean; you’re a human being, for Christ’s sake, and you should be treated like one. You should act like one.”_

Oh.

Yeah.

 _Shit_.

Dean curls tighter against the grip and nudges upwards, aiming for Alpha’s _(Sam, it’s Sam now, not Master)_ throat. He breathes in the flesh there wetly and feels himself lose control of the shaking.

“What’s wrong with me?” he whispers to no-one in particular. “What…what’s wrong with me?”

Alpha answers anyway. “Nothing,” he says firmly, pulling Dean closer and sturdier. “You hearing me, Dean? There is nothing wrong with you. It’s this fucked up little world we live in, okay? You’re not property, Dean, I didn’t mean that, alright? But you are—most definitely—mine. And people are going to have to start seeing that.”

Yeah. Dean hopes they do.

“M’naked,” Dean mutters after a few seconds of his feet scampering along the ground, still clothed in Ben’s old socks and slipping when he tries for grip. “Can I…” Should he ask? ( _You’re testing remember, so test it._ ) “Can I put the clothes back on, please?”

Sam smiles like he has been doing and presses a kiss to Dean’s nose. “Of course, baby, you don’t need to ask. Angel?”

Angel? Cas. Poor Castiel who’s old Alpha came back and must of freaked him out, Dean should go check.

He lifts from a kneeling Alpha slowly, tentatively, testing the water, but Sam doesn’t move to stop him, just watches him go with that small smile he has when he watches Dean do most things. So Dean eyes Cas a few yards away, collecting Dean’s clothes and he goes to him quickly, wrapping himself around the warm beta.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Nuzzling at that neck. “He was…he was your old Alpha. Are you okay?”

Castiel drops the clothes.

“Yes, Dean,” and his voice is wet, there’s a dampness in Dean’s hair—shit. He’s crying. He made his Beta cry, crap, crap… “Thank you. I’m okay.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes as they hug—not even Alpha progresses near them and for those short moments it’s really good. Nice. Perfect.

“How are you?” Castiel asks, right after clearing his throat and wiping his eyes dry on the sleeve of his dark shirt. Dean mouths at one still damp cheek and nods.

“Okay,” he mumbles against the salty flesh. He’s just moving onto the next one when he senses Alpha coming up beside them.

“You can go,” he says quietly, and Dean stills. Who can go? Dean doesn’t want to go, please, don’t…

But then other footsteps sound and Alpha thanks them—when Dean looks…it’s the whole pack. Dispersing around them after watching Dean lose it and Castiel crying and it’s like before, Christ, they’re never gonna see him as anything older than ten after this shit.

Dean ducks back to where he belongs and laps back at Castiel, clearing off the evidence. They at least owe Castiel respect. He’s smiling when Dean lets off.

“Seriously though,” someone else says and Dean flinches into Alpha when he registers it as Gabriel. “You okay, baby brother?”

Castiel turns squarely to the last member of the retreated Pack. “Yes, Gabriel. I’m fine. You?”

Gabriel huffs and claps both hands on Castiel’s shoulders, too high to be entirely platonic. Castiel threads his hands through his brothers fingers and rests his cheek against Gabriel’s.

“Takes more than that bastard to rattle your big bro, kiddo,” he says, kissing Castiel gently. The beta melts into him and Dean melts into Sam. It’s good, this thing. Dean needs it and he loves it.

“You wanna go put Mag’s and Ellen and Jo at peace, baby?” Sam mutters into his hair.

Dean nods quickly when he remembers the fear from the little girl and Ellen’s resistance to letting him go. He wonders idly if his scent still lingers with his own capitulation. He hopes not.

“Dean!” Maggie squeals and legs it at them both the first whiff she gets, entangling herself around both Dean and Alpha. Dean kisses the top of her head.

“Well thank fuck,” Ellen breathes from beside Jo, lifting herself and standing as Alpha moves into the room with Dean in tow, Maggie off of them again and launching herself at Cas and Gabriel—tears springing in her eyes as she sobs for them, burrowing against t-shirts and jeans, hands flying to grip tightly at family. Dean watches them fondly as he's pulled along.

“Yee of little faith,” Alpha supplies, accepting Ellen’s hug.

Dean blinks when she whacks his arm. “Ow!” Alpha growls lightly, rubbing at the flesh and glaring. Dean nuzzles at his shoulder.

“Heard him leave ages ago, what, you couldn’t send word that Dean wasn’t actually stuffed in the trunk?”

Dean goes to her because she still smells that weird way and he offers his throat because Sam said he smells like home. Looks like she could do with that right about now. He doesn’t complain when Jo joins in.

“Hey, Alpha?” Gabriel calls from across the room when the four are one big pile of scenting and limbs on the carpet and Jo’s thigh is seriously comfortable under his ear. Sam lifts a shaggy head blearily at the small family huddled by the door; Castiel wrapped around Gabriel and Maggie wrapped around Cas. Dean smiles for them. They need that. He gets it. “I’m stealing your Beta. You got a problem with that?”

“S’long as you bring him back before dinner, go ahead,” Sam smiles against Dean’s nipple where he apparently seems to have latched himself. Not complaining, definitely not complaining.

Dean doesn’t bother watching them manoeuvre themselves out the door. They’re probably just going round to Gabriel and Maggie’s room anyway, and Dean knows where that is. Maggie showed him a day or two ago when she promised the bed she shares with her Uncle is definitely more comfortable to scent on than anything in the living room. Gabriel hadn’t been mad when he’d found them—just went to fetch Cas and the pair had joined in. Awesome, by the way.

“Why is Dean naked?” Jo asks through a yawn, reaching down and stroking his hair.

Sam huffs a laugh. “Guess we forgot to get you dressed again, huh?” he kisses the nub beneath his lips. Dean shivers. “Gotta say though, this has its appeal.”

“I swear to God,” Ellen grumbles from beside Jo, “You don’t pack that shit in, I’m leaving.”

And Dean can’t help but laugh.


	8. Home is wherever I'm with you...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaw, love after me being so evil!! Enjoy!!!
> 
> And seriously, this is a ridiculously early update, but I had to write it and I couldn't keep it from you lovely people :)

“Yeah, _yes_ , right there Angel, right there, come on,” Sam pants, rutting his hips back against Cas’ hand and moaning wantonly at the sensation, head thrown back. Dean just watches from across the mattress—legs wide to accommodate Cas’ ventures—completely bewildered. This. Is. Amazing.

“Can you take another?” Cas asks, smiling loosely down at their Alpha like he fucking _owns_ him and Dean’s not entirely certain he doesn’t. He crooks his fingers and hits that universal spot inside Sam that makes him buck against it, heels scampering against the sheets to drive himself closer. Dean whines lowly and keeps watching, rapt.

“Can take,” Alpha starts shakily, huffing out a laugh, “anything you bring, Beta.”

Cas laughs.

Dean’s legs spread wider when Cas comes near him again, offering a leaking hole for the Beta to steal from and he does—only this time it’s with his mouth and Dean bucks up into the sensation of soft lips sucking at his hole and vibrating through it in a moan, spiking pleasure points and he suddenly wishes Alpha wasn’t the focus of this little demonstration, no matter how pleasing watching him like this is.

He mewls again, louder, when Castiel lifts off and deposits the warmed slick against Alpha’s furled little hole, stretched around two off his fingers. They all moan when he pushes a third one in.

Cas kisses Sam with the remainder of the slick and they’re grinning when they lift off, licking their lips and eyeing each other and Dean’s cock jerks again because they like the taste of him in each other’s mouths and he wants to _come_.

“Taste so good, baby,” Sam pants, closing his eyes and not offering a thing. “So fucking good.”

Dean keens against the back of his throat and shuffles his empty hole against the completely ruined comforter because Cas didn’t say anything about not being able to do that. His hands are fisted like bricks where they grip the sheets beside him and it’s so _hard_ not touching, so hard, Christ, _so_ hard.

“Please,” he gawps, crawling just an inch to get that little bit closer to the pair from his designated spot, shuffling like a pup that knows it’s done wrong. “Cas…”

“No, sweetheart.” Cas turns and grins, eyes blown wide in untouched ecstasy. His fingers don’t stop moving inside their Alpha and Dean’s amazed how Sam’s let himself come so undone in front of him. “Not yet, but we’re nearly ready. Just a few more minutes, love.”

“No,” Sam pants, rocking Cas deeper. “Ready now, Angel, ready for him now.”

 _Yesyesyesyesyes_ …

They eye each other and Dean shrinks himself lower than his Beta, showing him his Mark on the stretch just above his right nipple and flaunting it, using it against him. Cas grins and beckons for him to come closer—Dean scampers to obey, the sheets kicked beneath him—and Castiel mouths at the scab, pushing his tongue against the wound and Dean wails with it, moving his grip to Cas’ tensed up thigh.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Dean baby, come on,” Sam pants, watching them with slanted eyes, he makes a grab for Dean but Cas slaps him away.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chastises, pulling his fingers free and running them up the inseam of Sam’s thighs. “No.”

“Fuck, come on, please,” Alpha begs (an Alpha’s _begging_ , what the hell) and Dean nearly comes right then and there watching that tiny hole flutter at him, gripping on thin air. Dean understands. He hates being empty straight after a handful of fingers, it’s an awful feeling. Sam needs Dean. Dean needs to help his Alpha.

“What do you think, pup?” Cas teases, floating his thumb over the winking muscle. “Is our little Alpha ready?”

Sam growls at the words and bucks up but never pushes like Dean knows he could, he doesn’t order them to hurry up and do something in his Alpha voice. He just squirms there and waits for Cas to make the call and Dean’s giddy at the prospect.

“Yeah,” Dean nods impatiently without that knowledge Cas is asking for, toeing closer still. “Cas…”

“Mm,” the Beta considers, pushing the tip of his finger in. “Maybe we could make it to four?”

“I won’t fuck you for a month if you don’t get Dean’s dick inside of me right now, I swear to God.”

Gonna come, gonna come…

Cas laughs breathlessly and retrieves the tip, brushing off the slick against the spoiled sheets. “Baby,” he mocks.

“Tease,” Sam replies.

“ _Please_ ,” Dean begs, rutting off against the sheets and needing that friction against his leaking opening.

“Alright, alright,” Cas laughs, moving away from Alpha but tugging him up by the wrists at the same time. He moans, but goes willingly. “I can take a hint.”

He positions Sam—Dean still crouched needily in the middle of the mattress—on the very edge of the bed and pushes him down until he’s lying back, ass hanging off the side. Cas pushes his thighs open and moves aside, leaving the V of those thighs devastatingly empty. Dean looks on, hypnotised, and jolts forwards when Cas smiles over at him and nods his head.

“Right here, beautiful,” he says, motioning for Dean to stand between his Alpha, bracketed by strong thighs. “There we go, so good,” and Cas’ voice is _right there_ next to him, whispered and wet against the shell of Dean’s ear. He pushes up against Dean’s slick hole and Dean’s hips buck forwards, against air. The Beta’s hands are all over him, stroking up and down the length of barely healed ribs and palming his way down a fluttering stomach, past his straining dick and down into the slick under.

Dean mewls when his cock is painted in his own excretions, dropping his head back against one perfect pec. Feels good and messy and wet and holy _crap_.

“S’okay, baby,” Sam says from the mattress, eyes clamped on the two of them. “It’s gonna be so good, Dean, love you.”

“Love you,” Dean agrees, smiling dazedly down at him. First time he’s ever said it but it doesn’t feel nearly as important right now when Cas is rubbing a thumb over the head of his throbbing cock all wet with his own liquid. Alpha looks stunned though, so Dean keeps one wary eye on him anyway.

“Good boy, sweetheart,” Cas smiles against him, his own cock a smooth line tracing the parting of his cheeks, rubbing and coaxing against Dean’s hole. “God, always so wet for us, aren’t you? So perfect.”

Dean nods in agreement and tilts his ass until Cas’ cock sticks against the edge, caught, so close to sinking in. But he pulls away and keeps stroking, earning a tight chitter from Dean’s throat.

“Not yet, baby,” he says. “Soon. Promise.”

And then his hand leaves Dean’s glistening cock and disappears behind both of them—still stroking a line down Dean’s stomach so he doesn’t complain too bad—and when it comes back, it’s slicker than before, covered in it even. Not from Dean…oh.

Oh, God.

Cas strokes his glowing palm against Sam’s empty hole and lets _his own slick_ wet it, pushing some in with the tip of his thumb until Sam’s filled up with it and Dean’s gonna push in with both himself and the Beta’s synthetic slick smoothing his way. He won’t last long. He gets that.

“Holy fuck,” Sam hisses once he’s closer back to himself and no longer gawping up at Dean like he’s just grown two heads, staring down towards his ass as both sets of liquid are pushed in. Dean wants so bad to touch himself but Cas said no and he wouldn’t want to ruin the handy work, oh God…

“We ready, beautiful?” Cas asks, returning to his place behind Dean.

“Yes, please, please—”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he strokes Dean, palming at the smooth skin beneath Dean’s useless little balls. “We’ll go slow for Sam, alright? We don’t want to hurt our Alpha, do we?”

Dean shakes his head, frowning. No, of course not, he would never…could he hurt him? Shit.

“You won’t baby, don’t worry,” Alpha reassures, smiling loosely, eyes wide in lust.

Dean nods and Cas smiles against his throat, whispering in his ear words meant only for them but they both know Alpha can hear. “Our Alpha’s so good, isn’t he?” Dean nods, eyes on Sam’s. “So strong for us, but we need to take care of him sometimes too, don’t we, Dean?” Another nod and Sam loses eye contact, moaning and rolling his head back. “We’ll do that now. You can fuck him Dean, and he’ll be so good for you, I promise. He loves it, sweetheart, just as much as you do. We’ll make it so good for him, won’t we?”

“Yes,” Dean vows, reaching out a hand and stroking it along Sam’s knee.

“Good boy. Slowly, Dean, remember.” Cas takes Dean’s cock in hand again and urges him forwards, nudging the base of his spine with the tip of his dick. He can feel Sam’s heat from his glistening hole, open and ready for him, willing like an Omega and filled to the brim with Omega slick. It’s makes Dean’s head go dizzy.

Cas takes the base and Dean’s not sure who moans the loudest when his head touches the ring of that perfect hole, him or Sam. Like fucking lava pushing into it, nothing like Cas because he spread when he let Dean fuck him in heat, he evolved as a Beta and he got slick for him and opened up until the slide was just slick and utterly perfect. This…this is like a white hot, wonderful clamp around Dean’s cock and it’s almost _too much_ but _not enough_ because he’s not moving yet, not really.

And when Sam’s breath flutters and Dean pushes in in shock, he almost balks against the denial of Cas’s instructions and pulls himself out. Cas is there though and he barely makes it an inch out of that heat.

“Sorry,” he says instantly, gripping Sam’s thigh in balance for an anchor. “Sorry.”

Sam breathes before he chokes out, “S’okay, Dean, don’t worry about it. Need more than an Omega cock to hurt me bad so you’re fine, baby. S’good, okay? Real good.”

So Dean pushes back in, slower this time. He can’t move yet—rut in and out like Alpha does inside him—because if he does that’s game over, done and dusted and he really doesn’t want to come yet. He could, he supposes, he’d probably still be hard considering how turned on he is right now, but this pressure, he knows, will be too much against his sensitive dick. So this is a onetime deal right now and he wants his Alpha to feel good.

“Move when you’re ready, baby,” Cas whispers deep in his ear.

Right. _Deep breathes, okay? You can do this for Alpha and Cas, you know you can. You will._

He pulls out gently to begin with, breath caught harshly in his throat but then Cas’ hand moves to his nipple and pinches it just how he likes and _bam_ , he’s balls-deep inside his Alpha and it’s a miracle he doesn’t come inside him right there.

The second attempt at a rhythm isn’t much better because there’s suddenly three fingers in his ass and a knuckle at his prostate and he wails loud enough, he’s pretty sure, for Ellen to hear in the kitchen.

Third times a charm.

He’s pulsing in and out of Sam’s hotness, in out in out and Cas is bucking fingers inside him but God, it’s only from practice both with Alastair and here that he doesn’t come like _that_.

Sam’s got his ankles on Dean’s shoulders by the time Cas whispers in his ear, “Want me to fuck you now?” And Dean nods like he’s being offered water in the desert.

Dean pauses his ruts and Cas goes slow, pushing in with his hands to himself so a panting Dean doesn’t fucking explode straight into Alpha’s asshole.

“You’re in control, Dean. You move for us.”

 _Toomuchtoomuchtoomuch_ …

He moves slowly into the slicked channel laid out for him and Cas slips further out. He pulls out of Sam until only his head remains inside and Cas is buried to the ball-less hilt in his own channel.

Three more of that rhythm and he’s coming collapsed against Sammy, panting as he fills the Alpha up with his clear Omega come but making him even slicker and moaning in pleasure. He pulls out, crowds against Sam on the bed, and watches, dazedly, as Cas finishes the job.

Dean’s apparently not done though, because he’s on Sam the second he’s back to himself, hole positioned over a swelling cock and rutting down, until the knot’s inside, Sam’s staring slack jawed up at him and coming troves inside Dean’s ass. Dean comes again and licks the strings from Sam’s chest. Cas comes with a finger up his own ass and his cock in a convulsing Alpha hole, so when all three collapse back on the bed, they smell sated. _Very_ sated.

Dean’s attached to his Alpha for thirty minutes after that, but they don’t go downstairs. Round two, right?

*

“You need a haircut,” Sam says, threading his fingers through Dean’s hair and tugging a little, earning a small yelp against his collar. Dean nuzzles against him where he’s sat, spread-eagled over his Alpha, scenting at his throat.

“You like holding on,” he replies cheekily, quietly, lifting slightly to watch that shocked little smile worm it’s way onto Sam’s face. He grins up at him.

Alpha barks a laugh and Dean tucks himself happily against one clavicle, having pushed the shirt grumpily out of the way to reveal the stretch of taut skin. Ugh, so perfect.

“God, I love when you say things like that. Should always be a mouthy little shit, you know that? God, I love you.”

Dean pauses before his mind shrugs and he agrees, speaking it plainly against Alpha flesh. “I love you, too.”

“Really?” Alpha asks after a second, lifting Dean off slightly and eyeing him up. Dean frowns. “Do you mean that, Dean?”

“Of course I do,” he replies, shuffling in tighter and pushing closer.

Sam sighs. “Baby, look, there’s something you should know—”

“How goes Omega boy?”

And they both look over to a grinning Gabriel waltzing through Sam’s office doors, saluting where they’re sat on the pointlessly uncomfortable couch. Sam is Dean’s cushion, though, so it’s okay.

Dean smiles at him.

“He’s fine,” Dean replies, tucking the side of his face against Sam’s chest so he can still watch the Gamma advancing, still smile shyly at the brandish grin aimed at him.

“Ooh, talking today, huh? I like,” he says, stopping metres from the couch with his hands slung into his pockets. “Very nice.”

“Mm,” Sam agrees, chest rumbling beneath Dean all warm-like, apparently forgetting what he was about to say. “Dean’s in a brilliant mood, aren’t you, baby?”

Dean just claws closer, shrugs and smiles behind him at Gabriel.

“Well, it’s a shame to miss out on this then,” he says, perching his ass against the edge of Sam’s desk. Dean turns his head the other way so he can watch him closely, level the jeans and khaki jacket, wonder minutely why he smells like Castiel’s Beta if the man was so busy making plans to go back to work. Dean doesn’t want him to, but he promised Cas he’d wait by the door for when he returns home anyway, take his coat and let him scent at him. Cas had warned he’ll smell like foreign Pack when he gets back because he’s a surgeon and he has to help everyone who needs it, but Dean promised he wouldn’t care. As long as he never stopped smelling like Cas, Dean’s fine.

“What?” Dean asks quietly, blinking over at him.

“Gonna have to steal your Alpha for a bit, Dean-o. We’ve got errands to run, don’t we, Sammy?”

Dean frowns up at Sam. What errands and does he really have to do them now?

Sam sighs down at him. “Won’t be too long, baby. Mag’s is watching TV with Alfie, you wanna go join them? I think Jo’s in the kitchen if you want to talk to her.”

“Oh,” Dean says. “Where are you going?” _Nosy, nosy, nosy, shouldn’t ask that, don’t interrupt…_

But Alpha just smiles down at him and smells all happy about it. “Into town for a bit. Get you some clothes of your own, some other crap. Couple of hours, tops.”

“Oh,” Dean says again. And then, because apparently he is a little mouthy shit, “Can I come?”

And Alpha just gapes, staring at him slack jawed. Dean back tracks quickly, scuttling from being huddled against Sam’s chest to sitting back straddling his lap and looking down, demurely, only because Sam gets annoyed if he runs away from him to cower on the floor. He plays with his fingers and says, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it, it’s fine. I’ll go talk to Jo then, wait for you here. I could help make you dinner, maybe, Bobby says…”

“No, no,” Alpha soothes, tugging Dean by a firm hand at the scruff of his neck, pulling him to lay once more over his perfect torso.

Dean’s been doing that a lot recently—talking, he means. He’s figured, after a few trials, it gets him out of things he doesn’t want to be in, like Julia’s invitation to spend the night in the treehouse. Sometimes, though, Alpha doesn’t seem to like it, which turns out to be all kinds of confusing. “I’d love you to come. God, Dean, it would be amazing to get you out of the house, it’s just…I wanna make sure you’re completely ready for it before we do anything hasty. You sure you wanna go outside like that?”

“Course he does,” Gabriel answers for him, suddenly a weight over to Dean’s left, hands palming against his back. His words are in Dean’s ear, “You do, don’t you Dean?”

Dean peeks up at Alpha and smiles at the little scowl he gives Gabriel, rolling his eyes because _‘don’t put things in his mouth, you don’t know he wants to spend the night with you’_. Dean had, though, and it happened to be awesome, so he doesn’t exactly mind Gabriel’s input. Besides. He’s funny.

“Can I come?” Dean asks tentatively, words muffled slightly against Sam’s throat. “I don’t have to, but…Alastair never really let me unless I had a colla-…” _we don’t talk about that, shut up._ “Um. Yeah. Can I come?”

Sam’s shooting him that little look he gives whenever Dean brings up his old life (reason number twenty-seven never to do it), and presses a chaste kiss to Dean’s nose when he looks up at the Alpha. He’s smiling in the next second though, so Dean doesn’t bother panicking.

“Awesome,” he says, grinning up at Gabriel. Gabe’s lips meet the back of Dean’s neck and they’re wet and it tickles so Dean flinches away, laughing. Sam bats at him, still smiling, “Shoo and tell Cas, will you? He’s gonna be pissed if he misses this.”

“Can do, sir,” he says, saluting again. “I’ll go get the car ready.”

=*=Ω=*=

It takes just over an hour for them to park up comfortably in Boulder and by then Dean’s just starting to get fidgety, fingers clenching and unclenching against Sam’s denim clad thigh. Sam motions for the others—Gabe driving up front and Cas beside him in the passenger seat—to wait a minute before scampering out of car and into the fresh air. They nod at him in the rear-view mirror.

“Hey, baby,” Sam coaxes, nudging Dean gently in the ribs. He squirms and smiles but it doesn’t reach his emerald eyes. “You okay?”

“Mmm,” Dean hums, eyes darting outside the window and following with hawk like precision as a woman walks past, pushing a buggy and scowling at a young pup holding onto it. He moves to the other cars with a wide gaze before finally taking the silent hint and inching them up to Sam’s. He flinches, then remembers and keeps them there, right where they are. Sam grins in reward and palms at his hair. Charlie says she’ll cut it when they get back, once she’s finished fucking Jo into the mattress and that wasn’t really something Sam had needed to hear, but she seems nice enough anyway. Dean thinks she’s ‘cool’ at least, so there’s that, right?

“Dean, we don’t have to do this, it’s okay. Cas can drive you home and pick us up in a couple hours, don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Everything’s fine.”

“What?” Dean says slowly, distractedly. “No, no, I…I wanna do this. Can I? I mean…i-if you want me home, I don’t mind…”

Sam halts him once his brain’s managed to push aside Dean calling his land ‘home’ for later celebration, and grips the fidgety hand in his to bring it to his lips. “You can does this, sweetheart, of course you can. I know you can.” Dean grins and Sam’s heart melts into a puddle in his chest. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” he whispers—then with more finality, eyes determined on Sam’s: “Yeah. Ready.”

“Alrighty then,” Gabe says, climbing from the car. “Let’s get this show on the road, huh?”

Dean nods distractedly to no-one in particular and follows close to Sam when he leaves too, clutching like a bug to the hem of Sam’s jacket. Cas meets them and holds Dean, pulling him into the Beta’s grip like that’s all that matters and Sam sighs easy, content to let him go.

The stares start once they’ve escaped the confines of the parking garage, but Sam’s not sure if Dean’s noticed them yet. Doesn’t stop him from looping an arm over his Beta with Dean a warm ( _is he trembling? Crap_ ) entity between them—or Gabriel’s tilted brow and subtle snarl (so Dean doesn’t get worried about it) at anyone who gets that tiny step too close. It’s the camera phone pointed at them by one chubby teenager that does it though, and Gabriel’s barking at her like their Jack Russell guard dog. Dean flinches at the reaction, but the girl’s scarlet faced and hurrying away before Dean can notice much of her, so Sam distracts him with a kiss to his crown and that’s just about that. Sam shares a look with his Beta but no-one else tries anything so stupid.

Dean notices when the muttering starts. Once stray comment “Holy shit, that’s an omega,” floats towards them and Dean jolts at it, turning towards the Gamma couple timidly before whipping his gaze away and shoving his face against Sam’s shirt.

Enough of a chance with Dean not witnessing it for Sam to give some glares of his own out and every single victim either drops their gaze or cowers away, so that works out well.

“Uh!” the shop assistant gushes when they all walk into the shop (higher end and tailored if they need it, supposed to have a sophisticated workforce, but _apparently_ …), covering her mouth exaggeratedly with her hands when she gets a load of the four of them, a very definitely trembling yet defiant Dean all but curled inside Sam’s jacket. “So cute! Oh my God, come in, come in, please, make yourselves comfortable!”

Yeah, sure, no fucking way, they’re leaving—but then the girl’s supervisor snaps at her, nods apologetically to Sam, and they’re being led calmly deeper into the room. Dean looks like he’s about ready to drill into the ground, but he follows too. Stubborn little toddler he is.

“I apologise on behalf of Becky,” the manager says—nametag spelling Alice. “She’s…” the girl gets a glare and smiles sheepishly, “ _new_.”

“It’s fine,” Sam says, back straight and gaze direct, unforgiving. His thumb rubs against Dean’s shoulder to will the thing not to take it the wrong way, but he doesn’t anyway. He’s just blinking up at Alice—apparently satisfied the posh little backroom to the store’s empty enough to be even slightly comfortable in it. “I’m sure Dean could have done without it, but…”

Alice goes red-faced and Sam almost feels guilty about that—almost—but not quite when he catches Becky leering again, Dean’s eyes fixed wide on her. He tugs his boy’s head away and flashes teeth at the girl, who scuttles back where she came from with an indignant yelp. Alice raises her hands.

“We’ll give you a discount, Alpha,” she offers quickly, beckoning to another assistant who trots over instantly, hands clutched before her, eyes down. The air smells tense but Sam can’t worry about that right now, he needs Dean comfortable.

Christ, Omega’s aren’t that rare, get a grip.

“Don’t get many Omega’s around here, do you?” Gabriel asks from his perch on one red leather chair, sprawled comfortably in it. Dean eyes him from around the edge of Sam’s jacket.

Alice smiles. “How’d you guess? Last one we had in here must’ve been fifty and balding and that was a year ago. Boulder’s not exactly a small town, but it’s not an Omega hub either. We apologise.”

Sam deflates somewhat at that, offering a fairly reluctant smile. Alice returns it in troves, before motioning to Dean in Ben’s old jeans (too short around the leg and loose around the hips) and Cas’ old _Thin Lizzy_ tee shirt. She doesn’t say anything without Dean’s eyes on her, just raises her brows at Sam expectantly with an open and reassuring offer.

“Dean needs a new wardrobe,” he says simply.

Alice nods. “Perfect. Where shall we start?”

Dean spends the next twenty minutes in Gabe’s lap laughing against his throat at whatever the Gamma’s telling him, and somewhere around the ten minute marker actually lifting his head to offer opinion on Cas and Sam’s choices in clothes. Sam just keeps pointing out staple items he’s sure Dean will wear when he’s curled up on the couch with Maggie and Alfie—simple t-shirts, jeans, boxers and socks—but Cas actually offers thought out items.

In the end Dean very literally has a brand spanking new wardrobe so they don’t have to come back again anytime soon—four pairs of jeans in all different weights and shades, though they stick to the basic blue; t-shirts in troves, whether long sleeve or short; shirts to slip over the top in case he’s cold or wants a change; two jackets, a wool-lined coat, gloves and a hat for the winter when he can’t just shift to keep warm in the Colorado snow; three packets of boxer-brief underwear; two packets of socks; some woolly sweaters earning Dean’s first sneer of the day; two pairs of cotton pyjamas; a pair of navy converse sneakers and a pair of leather, lace up boots.

The moment Alice had asked him if he’d try them all on had inspired a shocked enough expression marring that perfect little face that Cas had almost immediately stepped in to defend him and Sam had preened under the defence. Dean let the woman measure him, though, Gabriel’s nose against his, so they’re pretty sure everything fits. Sam had to all but force the boots onto his feet and wheel him around the shop to check their fit, but Dean had gone all soft and pliant after so he wasn’t too bothered.

“No,” Dean hisses once they’re at the till, suddenly wide eyed and gaping from shivering in the presence of the few other shoppers trying very hard not to stare at them. He grabs at Sam’s hand. “Too much.”

Oh. Oh, God, so perfect.

“Baby, it’s fine,” Sam reasons, pulling it back and offering Alice his card. “I can afford it.”

“But it…you can’t pay that for me. I don’t need this much, please, I can—”

This isn’t surprising, not really. Considering the state his clothes were in on that first day, knelt beside Alastair, the Alpha must not have been very eager to spend money on clothing him. Or at least when he did dress Dean in finery to show him off in front of others, he would have punished Dean for it.

That just manages to make Sam all that more eager.

“Dean, sweetheart, I want to do this. It’s okay, little pup, don’t worry about it. Hush, sweetheart, it’s good,” Sam soothes, stroking a hand over his hair distractedly as he codes in his pin.

Cas and Gabe share a side of Dean’s hair and smile at each other over the top—and Sam is not gonna make it through the end of this day without melting all over the streets.

Dean’s dressed—stunningly, Sam might add—in a khaki green t-shirt when they’re finished, coated in a black military style jacket, pale coloured jeans and his brand new boots. He’s grinning when Gabriel offers to take the bags back to the car and meet them in the bank, keeps looking down at the boots and blinking at them, this perfect little grin lighting his features and keeping a wonderful glow alight in his eyes.

He seems lighter after that too, simply holding Castiel’s hand now, rather than shrinking at every stray stare offered his way. When he does notice them, though, he just glances up at either his Alpha or his Beta, waiting for a reassuring smile and hand squeeze or the odd kiss before smiling and glancing back at the floor again, content.

Dean’s distracted by Gabriel in the bank and Sam watches where they’re stood by the door garnering looks Sam snarls at every two seconds, but Gabriel does a good job in distracting Dean. They finish quickly and the Omega hugs against Sam—but not in the dependant, traumatised way like before. They walk through the streets and Dean looks openly at things he finds interesting, smiles sheepishly when eager pups wave their attention his way. He touches things in the kids store and helps them choose presents for Maggie’s upcoming birthday. He eats every single inch of his taco at Taco Bell and he mouths against Cas’ throat when they wait in line for anything. He’s perfect and Sam loves him.

“What’s that?” Dean asks, pointing at a stray waffle iron lying neglected by itself in the homeware store—where Cas got a text from Ellen to retrieve a new toaster because one of their good ones has bust.

Sam pulls him close and kisses his hair, rewarding him for his question. “It’s a waffle iron, you can cook waffles in it.”

“Oh,” he whispers, still looking stumped. “What’re waffles?”

Sam and Cas laughs guiltily down at him, offering kisses when he smiles unsurely, but Gabriel shakes his head in disappointment and shoves the thing into the cart.

“You and me?” he says, pointing at them respectively. “No longer friends until you’ve eaten a waffle and liked it, capisce?”

And Sam doesn’t even have to reassure Dean that Gabriel’s being an idiot because he’s at the Gamma’s throat in seconds, coaxing him around from the stubborn set to his face when he gets a well-aimed whiff of pure omega, Dean’s smiling when he lifts off. Sam pulls him away and snogs him, right there in the store because his brother—his Dean—is so fucking perfect, he can’t believe his goddamn luck.

Gabriel claps them and Cas strokes over Dean’s shoulder.

“Excuse me?” comes a voice, and all three of them are spinning and hiding Dean from view, quick, like snakes, on the defensive. They soften somewhat when a frail old lady—a Beta, by the smell of it, though her mate seems long since dead—makes herself known in their vision, white haired and smiling. Sam pulls Cas closer when he stiffens and scents him subtly, offering knowledge that Sam’s not going anywhere and reinstating himself that Cas isn’t either. Gabe hugs himself around Dean’s back, so Sam knows he’s safe.

“Hello,” Sam greets, smiling.

“Hello,” she replies, holding out a tiny little hand that Sam takes in his, gigantic against the bird-boned one in his grip. “I’m sorry, I know how grumpy Alpha’s can get about things like this. Eliot was always so touchy about people…” She turns away for a second, pale eyes turning wistful. “I just wanted to tell you…you’re doing wonderfully. We had an Omega for a time—timid little thing but stunning, a little like yours I imagine,” she smiles back at Dean who steps just an inch closer, offering one of his own. Gabriel holds onto his hand. “Eliot was never very patient with him, kept making him do things he wasn’t ready to do but he’d do it anyway, you know? Always tried to keep his Daddy happy, poor little thing. You related?”

Sam freezes. If he tells her no, he’d be lying in front of Dean and he could use that against him later, he doesn’t want to do that to him and he’s sure as hell not admitting their relation right now, Jesus…

Dean takes the choice away from him when he shakes his head, though, and Sam’s not sure what to feel about that.

“Ah,” she says, nodding. “Eliot never wanted an Omega, but we always did, by God. And when Edna’s little boy presented we couldn’t have been happier,” Sam’s enraptured but edgy all the same, ensuring she’s sane enough not to do anything with the determined gaze she’s aiming at Dean. “Alex was a dream, I’m telling you. Pure white hair from the second he was born and these _eyes_ …he always wanted to be good. Used to stop himself, you know, in heats when his Daddy came home late from work, didn’t like disturbing him and Eliot would let him do that, let him rot in his own need. Poor little thing. Always at his Alpha’s feet so eager and willing, but Eliot saw it as weakness when we saw it as beauty. He learnt quickly to mourn what was lost when Alex fell ill though. Knew to miss when he died.”

Dean keens for her and shifts closer, dropping Gabriel’s hand and lifting it to her.

“Always so beautiful, Alexander,” she whispers, reaching one narrow hand to Dean and tracing it along his own. He lets her—complies even when he’s pulled in and scented, hugged into frail arms, he goes willingly, keening rhythmically all the way. She soothes him with hushes, stroking along his back. “He did love you, pearl, always will. He misses you. Go to him, Alex, it’s alright, little lamb, he loves you. Good pet, hush now, good pet. Shh.”

Sam leaves them for a few moments, lets the old woman have her handle on things, lets her enjoy her Omega for as long as he really can, before he calls softly, “Dean?” when half the shop stop to watch them. “Sweetheart, it’s time to go.”

Dean obeys, but of course he does. He plies himself gently from the lady’s grip, holding her hands in his when they’re far enough apart to smile at one another, offering his throat one last time as a parting, before he moves slowly back to Sam’s grasp. Sam holds him gently and soothes a finger down his spine.

“What’s your name?” he asks the old lady quietly from Sam’s hold, soothingly and instinctual.

“Evaline, little lamb. Evaline Ness.”

Dean nods. “I’ll come to see you?” he offers, peering up timidly at Sam. He nods with a surprised smile. Dean nods back. “I’ll come to see you. If you want me to.”

“Always, Alex, your welcome,” Evaline says, smiling gently. “Eliot will want to see you again. He still owes you that fishing trip.”

Dean smiles. “Yeah. Sure.”

And when Evaline turns to Sam, he nods loosely at her with a smile, offering his hand again. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Ness.”

“You do well by him,” she states, motioning to Dean. “Poor thing needs it.”

Dean hides against Sam’s chest. “I will. I promise.”

Evaline moves closer then, reaching out a hand and patting it against Cas’ cheek. “You keep him in check. Make sure.”

Cas nods silently, still drugged by the scent of loss on the woman.

And back in the car forty minutes later, Gabe driving, Sam centre back with both his mates beside him, he’s scented to oblivion beneath home and love. He scents them back.

Home. That’s what this is.

“Home.”


	9. I Will Always Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm nice...and then mean again. Sorry.

It’s six forty-five exactly when Cas walks back through the front door.

Dean’s on him in that second, arms enveloping him like a tree trunk and nose buried so freaking close in Cas’ collar, he wonders idly if it’s possibly to return. Christ, he hopes not.

Cas was right. He does smell like foreign pack, like blood deep down in his scent; like despair near his shoulder but it’s beneath his coat, beneath his jacket and stained on his t-shirt; he smells like processed food and clinical air freshener; he smells sad. But not a lingering scent, not like the Gamma who cried despair onto his shoulder—like a base scent mixed into the ocean Cas always carries around him.

Dean lifts his nose slightly to get himself a better view and yeah, he can see it now. Cas is sad. Beneath that smile (it’s real, he’s happy to see Dean and that’s wonderful, it really is) lies his own brand of despair deep down, and it makes Dean ache basely.

He runs his thumb over the soft, delicate skin beneath Cas’ azure eye, ever so gently that the smile dissipates some and the sadness comes through. Dean licks at him and then presses their cheeks together.

“What’s wrong?” he asks quietly.

Cas’ hands are entities of themselves when they make their smooth paths over Dean’s spine, strong and warm points of Home and Belonging that Dean pushes himself closer and spreads his whole length against Castiel’s.

“I’m okay, sweetheart,” he says, and it makes Dean’s chest ache that he’s trying to soothe Dean now.

“You can tell me, Cas, I’ll listen. You smell sad.”

Cas chuckles and his breath is warm against Dean’s ear. “You’re always so attentive, aren’t you? Our perfect little Omega.” He sighs and his body sags, but Dean just waits for him to carry on, offering him space (not physically, of course, Alpha might just need a crow bar to pry them apart) to think things through. “I tried to save her, baby,” he says finally, and Dean hauls him closer. “Christ, Dean, I tried so goddamn hard, but she…” his voice chokes and Dean starts them walking, slow, tentative steps until Cas just follows his lead, clinging on. “I couldn’t do it. She was breathing, and her heart was beating right in front of me and then she just…stopped. Stopped existing. Right there on my table and it was my job, my job to save her, but I couldn’t do it.”

Dean doesn’t bother knocking when they get to Alpha’s office, and they’re greeted with a snappy, “For God’s sake, _knock_ —” before Alpha registers who it is and stops talking altogether. Dean coaxes Cas closer, further into the room before he deposits him on the couch (Sam needs a new one, this is ridiculous) and curls into a ball at his side.

“Angel?” Alpha says, moving closer himself. “Christ, baby, what’s wrong?”

“Ah, I’m fine,” Cas says, huffing out a humourless laugh. He pets along Dean’s back. “Bad day at the office, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.” Dean watches in chastisement as he looks up at Sam and smiles, reaching out a hand for their Alpha to join them on the couch. Sam pauses before he does, taking in Dean’s frown before sitting and making Cas the heart of their puddle, hauling them both in with one long, muscled arm. “I’m fine, honestly.”

“Why?” Sam asks, breathing in the small hairs at Cas’ temple. “What happened?”

Cas sucks in a breath. “Downfalls of the job. It’s bound to happen, right?”

“Oh,” Sam realises. “Angel, I’m so sorry. Man, that’s one crappy first day back, huh?”

Cas chuckles again and offers his throat, a clear invitation for Alpha to have his merry way with the tanned stretch of skin—Sam smiles knowingly before ducking in there and mouthing at it. “Not a good one, no.”

“Sorry,” Dean offers, coiling closer. “That you had a bad day, I mean.”

“It’s okay, baby, it’s not your fault.” He sighs again. “Cons of the job,” he nods, reiterating his words.

“Yeah,” Dean nods eagerly, hoping for the Beta to catch it and hold. “Not your fault at all then, right?”

But Cas just smiles down at him (this one doesn’t reach his eyes and it makes Dean’s stomach tighten) and Sam nuzzles right underneath his jaw line, making these distracting little humming noises and trailing his hand up and under Cas’ tee—Dean watches raptly as the giant hand’s outline moves further and further up, until it clenches somewhat near Cas’ chest and the Beta hisses, tilting his torso up.

“We can distract you?” Sam offers, voice muffled from the press of flesh.

Cas chuckles breathlessly, “I’m gross, Sam, I need a shower.” He eyes Dean then, gaze hooded. “Although you’re both very welcome to join me.”

Ha, awesome! They’re sharing a shower again, perfect, let’s do that…

“Someone’s eager,” Sam grins, looking up to where Dean now stands, hopping from one foot to the next as he urges them to hurry the hell up and come have smoking hot _shower sex_. Seriously, how they’re not all running to the nearest bathroom is a freaking miracle to Dean.

“Come on,” Dean urges, reaching out for one of Cas’ hands and tugging him into standing (gently, so it’s only a suggestion, obviously) and widening his eyes suggestively. “We’ll make Cas feel good, right? Please?”

It’s slow going ( _how_? holy crap, Dean’s running) but they finally tumble into their bathroom, clothes shoved off and deposited out near the bed on the floor, and all lurch into the shower—Cas flicking it into life.

It’s cold for a few seconds but none of them register it—Sam’s tongue is down Cas’ throat and Cas has a finger up Dean’s hole so yeah, a little chill’s not doing them any harm. It heats up quickly though, and then Sam’s soaping Cas up, massaging it everywhere and following it with his lips (which must taste awful and Cas and Dean laugh at him) tongue lapping out to trace his very intrigued nubs.

“Shit!” Cas hisses, jerking out from Dean’s touch (tongue actually, which was, until recently, buried a decent way up Cas’ ass) and shivering when his half-hard cock (ha, not anymore it’s not) ploughs straight into Sam’s thigh.

Dean chuckles against one round ass cheek, mouthing at the sour flesh that tastes absolutely nothing like it’s coconut scent, and spreads the mounds apart to let the water run down and disrupt the healthy flow of Beta slick. He tries again, and this time Cas just moans, arching his chest into Sam’s ministrations and pushing back against Dean’s teeth as they nibble around the puckered flesh. Dean starts palming himself, but Sam kicks him off, eyeing him giddily. Dean whines, but he’s not _too_ bothered. He can guess what Sam’s planning.

“Come on, Angel,” Sam says, manoeuvring him and urging Dean up. “Fuck Dean for me, will you? He keeps trying to touch that Omega cock of his, but we can make him come a better way, can’t we?”

“Oh fuck, yes,” Cas growls, manhandling Dean with soft hands until he’s pressed, flat out, against one chilled tiled wall, legs spread and slick in abundance as Cas pushes swiftly in, bottoming out like _that_. Dean wails through the spray of water, rutting back against the rough sensations and humping at the wall like an animal, huffing out horny little breaths. His nipples are on the cold tile and he rubs them there, pushing and arching at all the sensations—Cas and Alpha’s hands both on him as Alpha pushes into Cas, shoving swiftly back and forth and every single one of them are humping something, hips thrusting up into whatever space they can find and moaning and whining and keening at the fucking _awesomeness_ of it all.

Cas’ hand weaves round and finds his balls, urging that special whine Dean usually only awards that particular offer, moving up to tiptoes with his throat vibrating in a wondering little chipper of noise. “Yes, please, Cas, please, yes, yes, yes,” he pants, rutting back and forth.

“Good boy, come on, sweetheart, there we go, Dean, come on,” Cas gasps, moving in unison to Alpha, whose hands are now balanced on the wall beside Dean’s head, in perfect distance, so Dean moves on out there and licks along one perfect wrist. Alpha offers his thumb and Dean suckles on that sucker like it’s feeding him.

“Fuck, baby, good boy,” Alpha hums, humour in his suddenly rough voice, out of breath and he cups Dean’s chin towards him, facing away from the wall. “Fuck, angel, so fucking tight, Christ, there we go, come on, _ugh_.”

Cas comes first. It’s the warm liquid spilling deep in Dean’s passage that gives him away though, because not for one second does he pause his thrusts, rutting in and out of Dean like it’s a freaking Olympic sport. Gold medals all round, Jesus.

Then Alpha, one hand a vice at the base of his dick to halt the angry knot there, face wide in ecstasy when Dean turns to watch him, eyes closed and brows in his hairline, mouth agar. He looks beautiful like that, always does, and it takes everything inside Dean to pause the wondering hand inching towards his throbbing, _begging_ cock.

Cas turns him back to the wall in seconds and his fingers (four? shit, four, oh God) plunge straight in and knead there, knuckles seeking out his prostate for further exploration.

Dean fucking _howls_ when he finds it, the pounding rhythm lifting him to his toes on the slippy flooring, hands flailing blindly to seek out Sam, get a grip on him and taste him or just fucking touch him, anything from his Alpha, he needs, he needs, please…

“Alpha, Sam, Sammy, please,” he whines, fingers clutching the second they land on flesh to _drag_ his mate in, tug him closer, God, God, God, God…

He doesn’t sob when Alpha latches on to his own mating bite (on the right side of his throat, perfect) and suckles there, but Christ, it’s a very near thing. He does, definitely, pull him closer and offer Cas’ to coax as well—and he moves his palm over the barely healed scar, massaging the flesh and teasing it with soft fingertips.

Dean comes—all over the tiles if the wall—when Cas’ tongue muscles it’s way between his fingers. He collapses into Sam instantly, not unusual in itself and Sam just chuckles at him, tugging him close—but when Dean opens his eyes and there’s suddenly three Sam’s, he figures something’s gone weird somewhere.

And yeah, crap…he feels sick. Nauseous and horrible like…

“Dean?”

But he’s out of the shower in one second and bowing over the toilet in the next because, God, he’s not puking on his mates.

It’s disgusting, it really is. He heaves (hasn’t since that first night of consciousness with Cas and Jo) and empties his stomach into the toilet bowl—the waffles Gabriel made them all that morning (not with eggs, fucking _gross_ ) and the dinner Alpha all but forced down his stomach when he wanted to wait for Cas—all of it spilling away from him in one, foul smelling swoop.

Oh, _crap_ …

“…let it out, sweetheart, you’re okay, good boy,” Cas says, the second Dean tunes back into him and listens to the words assured into the back of his hair. “Hush, baby.”

“Dean? Kiddo, you back with us?” Sam says, his voice full of concern and his face twisted in it too when Dean peers up to look.

Dean’s stomach drops again, not from the threat of puking, but by the looks on his mates faces. He arrows his gaze to the floor when they turn him back around and mop up his chin, and tries to stamp out the trembling.

“Sorry,” he whispers, staying stock still when Cas opens his palms for him, leaving the space between them empty and offering it for Dean to push into.

“Don’t be sorry, pup, it’s okay,” Sam sighs, closing his eyes and smelling all fresh from relief, but Dean doesn’t try to look at him either. He complies when Cas tugs him in instead, ignoring Dean’s tenseness and tucking him close anyway. Dean scents him because he wants to be sick again when he smells the fucking toilet.

He scowls over at it and Alpha laughs before flushing.

“You okay, handsome?” he asks.

Dean nods slowly, lazily, and finally lets himself relax against Cas’ chest.

( _not gonna hurt you, not gonna hurt you, s’okay, s’okay, s’okay…_ )

“Still weird from this morning, huh, pup?” Sam says, moving behind both of them and tucking them close. “I’m sorry, Dean. Should’ve taken it easy, I guess.”

“Why?” Cas asks, nuzzling at Dean’s hairline. “What was wrong this morning?”

“Headache,” Dean offers, turning right round and pushing his face against Cas’ damp chest and clicking on that the shower’s still going.

“ _And_ back pains,” Alpha insists, weaving his gigantic fingers through Dean’s. “You didn’t want to get up, either.”

“Just tired,” Dean says.

Cas doesn’t say anything for another few seconds, but his body turns to a brick beneath Dean’s forehead. Dean doesn’t move and just hopes Cas either waits to punish him for something ( _dude, he won’t do that_ ) or quickly gets over his thoughts and tucks Dean closer.

“Dean,” he says instead, soothingly, “is there anything else? Be honest baby, it’s okay. Anything weird you’ve been feeling recently.”

Dean rolls his eyes beneath his lids, but thinks on it anyway, mumbling out, “Dizzy sometimes and my belly hurt yesterday for a bit, but it wasn’t bad. Why?”

“And…and you didn’t want those eggs this morning, did you?” Cas says, his voice tilting in something as his hands speed up their quest through Dean’s hair.

“They were _off_ ,” Dean insists, clutching weakly to his stomach because he does _not_ want to be remained about that right now, jeese.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Cas breathes.

“What?” Dean and Sam say in unison, both turning to peer up at Cas’ wide eyed, open-curved mouth gaze and as they watch, he turns and grins down at Dean.

“No, it’s okay, don’t worry about it,” he says, words taut through the stretch of his lips. He barks out a laugh, Dean flinches, and he jolts into standing to leave Dean falling back against Sam on the floor. “Just…get dressed for me? Ellen’s coming up in a minute, I won’t be long.”

“Cas?” Sam calls, but the Beta’s already gone.

Dean’s frowning narrowly up at Sam and asking silently why the hell Cas was grinning and smelling all happy right after Dean just let him know for sure he’s sick.

Alpha just shrugs (helpful) and they both climb to standing (Dean’s heaved up in strong arms) and quickly get dressed—well Sam does. Dean waits on the bed after his orders and raises his arms or stands up as Alpha slips him into his clothes gently, his lips trailing softly against every patch of skin his perfect fingers touch.

Alpha’s shirt (the _scent_ , so perfect) and his own new boxers from their little excursion into town. Sammy tucks him against his chest when he sits crossed legged on the edge of the bed, and Dean burrows into him, legs hanging over.

“Okay, baby?” he asks, voice soft against Dean’s ear.

“Yes, Alpha,” he replies, and smiles shortly at the huff of pride his Alpha awards him.

He feels okay now. He feels great, actually, but he’s pretty sure round two is off the table and buried in the back yard somewhere: hell, especially if Ellen’s on her way up. They didn’t even want to fuck him when he got a paper cut out in the library two days ago, for fuck’s sake, just lapped at his hole and nipples until he finally (fucking _finally_ ) came in Sam’s waiting mouth. He did get to come though, so whatever, right? Besides, it’s his Alpha’s legal responsibility what happens with him, so Dean can’t exactly blame Sam for being so careful.

“Hey, puppy,” comes a voice, and both Sam and Dean glance up to watch Ellen appearing with Cas through the door—wearing the same giddy, weirdly immature grin as he still is. Dean frowns at them slightly, but nods in greeting as he shrinks back into Alpha.

He’s really not understanding why him being sick is such a gleeful thing. Maybe he missed something, and…maybe they want him sick? Shit.

Alpha seems concerned still though, so Dean keeps himself plastered to him.

“Little confused, huh?” she says, moving closer and reaching out a hand to stroke over his flank. Dean shrugs and Cas kisses him. Confused? Yeah. Definitely.

“We’ll explain in a second, baby,” Cas says, his words making themselves at home (where they should be) in Dean’s damp hair.

Ellen holds something up for Sam to see—a white stick, apparently, with a blue tip on one end and a little circle in the centre, writing that says Clearblue clearly in its front—and Dean lifts an eyebrow at it and bends back to Alpha, expecting him to offer the same reaction as Dean, turning away or scoffing.

He doesn’t though. He goes rigid like Cas did and his scent gets clogged with something—trepidation, excitement, fear?—and he instantly pulls against Dean’s middle.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes—Dean frowns up at his pup-like expression. “You sure?”

“That’s what this is for, kiddo,” Ellen says, and she’s smiling down at him now too.

Okay. What the fuck is happening?

“Christ…yeah I guess it matches right? I mean he’s been feeling crappy and…holy _fuck_.” Sam barks out a happy laugh and Dean’s…Dean’s what? Confused? Goes without saying much. Slightly terrified? Yeah, maybe. Anxious enough to puke up again? Yup.

“What?” he asks quietly, gaze flitting from one to the next (none of them looking at him). He’s almost embarrassed by how small his voice sounds, but he’s been completely naked in front of his whole pack twice now, so his humiliation gage is officially huge.

They all glance down in unison and stare then, as though they’re taking him in for the first time. Dean curls lower and Alpha’s the first to crack.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, moving up and letting Dean stand, hands in his. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’ll take care of you, you’re absolutely fine, baby,” he says, around his grin. Jesus. “I’ll explain in a few minutes, kiddo, but it’s best to be sure, yeah?” He nods in encouragement until Dean does too, completely, one hundred percent confused. “Good boy,” he gushes, and takes the ominous stick thing from Ellen, handing it blue part down to Dean. He takes it timidly. “Now I need you to pee on this, okay?”

Right. They’ve all gone crazy, that’s what it is, they’ve all gone mad. Perfect. Awesome.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas laughs giddily, nudging him back to the bathroom again. “Trust us, alright? Just pee on the blue bit and come straight back out, okay? We’ll be right here, baby, don’t worry.”

Dean goes—reluctantly, _seriously_ —when all three of them usher him to, hands flapping and smiles wide.

Maybe it’s a joke. Maybe Dean’s gonna pee on the blue bit, go back out, and they’re all gonna laugh at him for being so gullible and stupid for believing something so dumb. Dean’s definitely gonna cry if that happens (if he hasn’t started already, and _that’s_ humiliating) and he wonders idly what their reaction will be.

He doesn’t like not knowing, and pulling down his boxers and taking aim at the thing, he’s seriously agreeing with his own logic. Not knowing? Sucks. Totally.

“You should’ve told him,” Ellen says, her voice muffled through the wooden door. Dean pauses his flow and cranes to listen.

“We need to know the result before we know his reaction. Christ, he’s probably gonna be terrified either way, it’s just best to do it _after_ he’s done the peeing.” Sam sounds strung out there, but still super animated about the whole thing. He sounds like he’s smiling.

Wait… _terrified?_ What the hell’s happening to him to make him terrified? 

“So, you just had one of these lying around?” Sam asks, just after Dean’s finished with himself and he’s tucking back in.

“I got it for Lisa months ago, she never used it. False alarm though, luckily.”

Dean has to suck a few breaths into his lungs before he can buck up the courage to step back out there.

Sam’s on him first like an excitable puppy, trotting over and guiding him to sit delicately on the end of the bed—perching next to him and huddling Dean close. Cas takes his other side and Ellen watches them all, one arm across her chest and the other balanced on that one with the hand to her lips. She smiles when Dean looks at her.

“Three minutes?” Sam asks Ellen.

“That’s what it says.”

“Don’t understand,” Dean whispers.

_Don’t understand why you’re all so happy when you think I’m gonna be terrified._

_Don’t understand why you’re not telling me._

_Don’t understand, don’t understand, don’t understand…_

“Dean?” Sam says, pulling out to stare widely at Dean’s crumpling face and rushing both thumbs over his wetted cheeks. Christ, he wasn’t supposed to cry, _dammit_ … “Oh, God, sweetheart, don’t cry, baby, it’s nothing to be worried about. Shh, pup, come on,” Dean’s sucking on Sam’s scent in under a second. “Calm, sweetheart, you’re doing so well, just another couple of minutes, hush baby.”

“You, you,” Dean tries, choking on his own words and the air entering and leaving him. “You s-said I’d be… _terrified_.” And yeah, he fucking sobs it. Jesus, he just needs to _know_.

“Fuck, baby,” Sam says, reaching down and kissing him. “I don’t know how you’re gonna react, but we just need to know for certain, alright?”

Cas takes the Thing from him, fingers dancing over his skin.

“Dean, honey, it’s okay,” and Dean looks up through sodden lashes at Ellen, who’s smiling sadly at him now, eyebrows raised hopefully. “Nothing to worry about, beautiful.”

How do they know, if they don’t know how Dean’s gonna react, huh? Dean might just… _die_ , then how are they gonna feel? Humph.

“…Alpha.” And that’s Cas. Dean doesn’t bother looking at him. Just gonna lie anyway.

“Fuck. Holy…” Alpha replies—and then in the next second, Dean’s up in the goddamn air and yipping at the change in altitude because Sam’s lifting him high, dropping him down to his chest and snogging the sobs right out of him. He’s still grinning like a weirdo, so it’s not much of a snog, but he’s genuinely ecstatic, which Dean should be happy about—he would be, honest, if he weren’t so terrified about himself.

In another selfish act, he’s wrapped himself—still in the air, for God’s sake—around Alpha’s throat and he absolutely refuses to leave. Point blank. Refuses.

“Dean,” Cas says, and from where Alpha’s grinning down at Ellen (she’s patting Dean’s butt), Dean can see the Beta’s happy face easily, see the stick he’s holding up for Dean to see.

It says…it says Pregnant 3+.

It says… _Pregnant_.

 _Pregnant_.

Holy… _fuck_.

Dean’s squirming from his Alpha’s arm holding him up, pushing from the grip until he drops heftily to the floor on his bare feet and stares up at his Sammy’s face, mouth agar and breath leaving him like thundering wild horses and, fuck, it’s a miracle he’s still breathing at all, he definitely doesn’t feel like he should be, he should be…he should be wailing on the floor in a cutthroat panic; he should be kissing Alpha with everything he has because this is Alpha inside him, Alpha gave him the greatest gift; he should be running into the woods and hiding to…to…fuck.

Holy _fuck_.

“Hey, handsome,” Sam says soothingly, softly. He inches a hand Dean’s way and runs it though his Omega’s hair, earning a swift twitch at the contact ( _Alpha’s inside you, he’s inside you_ ) until Dean just gives up the ghost and mewls his way into Sam’s shirt, clutching at the hem. “We’re gonna have a pup, baby. You’re gonna be a daddy.”

Dean’s gonna puke again. But…he’s not. This isn’t as bad as the ideas whirring his head ( _something along the lines of poison and eating a human sacrifice_ ) and…Dean can handle this. He has Alpha and Beta and…and he has a pack. Uncle Gabe, right? Daddy…he’ll be a daddy.

But he doesn’t know what he’s doing and Alpha says his parents died and Castiel says his parents left when he was young, so how are any of them gonna raise a…a _pup_ of their own?

Ellen. Ellen has a kid, she has Jo.

And Cas is already like a father to Maggie, he knows what he’s doing, right?

And Alpha…well he’s an Alpha, for God’s sake. He’s practically father to his whole entire Pack, he can handle one little pup with Dean’s eyes and his nose, surely?

And Dean, well…Dean likes baby Jemma. She likes him as well, likes scenting him when she’s screaming and sometimes that’s the only thing that’ll calm her down, Dean on her blanket and scent marking it and nuzzling into her—he can feed her, too, he can make her laugh and squeal in delight. Besides, Dean was made for this, right? Physically, obviously, but mentally, too. He’s good at taking care of people, he can do this.

He can.

Right?

( _don’t have a choice, look how happy Alpha is, it’s his pup too and Cas’, they choose, you don’t_ )

Yeah. Right. Dean’s not sure he minds, though.

“Hey, baby, hey,” Sam says, right there, right in Dean’s face and he’s holding Dean as though he’s holding him standing, holding him upright and still as though Dean’s about to freak out and run or freak out and faint. “It’s alright, Dean, we can handle this together. Look, baby, if it’s…if it’s really something you don’t need right now, you can…you can lose it, if you want. I won’t blame you, sweetheart. I won’t blame you.”

And God, Dean wants to cry all over again at the look on Alpha’s face—screwed up like ridding Dean of this is like losing his own Pack and does he really think Dean could ever do that to him? Never. Dean would never hurt his Alpha like that.

Dean offers a smile—wispy and tired, but real—and reaches his arms up in demand (asking, asking for permission) to be lifted again, balanced on Alpha’s hip.

Sam goes one better though, and Dean’s wrapping his legs around his waist and locking his arms around his neck in under two seconds.

“No,” Dean says into his mating mark—once he’s nudged the shirt out of the way and scented his way to just below Alpha’s clavicle. “Want it. Want you, Alpha, want you happy, and Cas and…I want it. Please.” It’s added as an afterthought, but then Cas is damp with his face pressed to Dean’s shoulder blade, so it’s okay.

“Celebration!” Ellen calls, her own voice sounding wet, but then footsteps sound and she’s fast-walking down the hall. “I’ll make you pie, honey, anything you want!”

Dean grins against Alpha. Sounds good. Really good.

“You’ll be the best father in the world, Dean,” Cas says, coaxing Dean down from Sam (Dean only goes with the offer of another scent) and tucking him close, pulling Alpha in too. “The best Omega.”

“You too,” he says to Cas, grinning up at him. “And Sam. We-we’ll be a family, right? A real family?”

The Pack’s his family, of course, but Dean trusts they know what he means. Dean’s never had one, not really. Now…now he has a chance.

“The best family, baby,” Alpha promises seriously. “A real family.”

They go downstairs some minutes later—once Dean’s stopped crying from his second round and he’s got some clothes on his legs beside boxers, once Cas can tug his hands away from Dean’s stomach for two seconds put together, and once Alpha’s ceased his kissing.

Everything halts, though, when Dean hears the shouting. Never good. Oh God, Lucifer’s back and he’s gonna take Dean away, take him from his pup…or Master, it’s Master’s pup, and, and he wants them both back—

When an echoing “Dean!” comes shouting through the house though, it’s not a voice he recognises. And that’s slightly scarier.

Alpha’s off like a rocket in a second, growl ripped from his throat as he tears down the rest of the stairs and bursts into the hallway—Dean runs after with his hand clenched tight in Cas’, both scents fogged in fear and both hearts beating like jack rabbits, _fuckfuckfuckfuck_ …

It was good. Ellen was making him pie.

“Get the hell away from my pack, _now_!”

Dean’s…Dean’s never seen him so angry. He didn’t think that was possible, but this…Oh God. This is furry. This is…indescribable.

“Don’t you try to order me, boy, fuck you,” and it’s a man that says it—gruff and shorter than Sammy ( _SammySammySammy_ ) but not short by any stretch. He has a beard, greying around the edges, and Dean can smell the whiskey on him from here, but he smells…familiar. The same kind of way Sammy did when he first tucked Dean into safety.

He smells Rogue. Gamma, but no pack, _wrongwrongwrong_. Dean can’t imagine how terrible a life like that must be.

And why the hell is he talking to Sam like that?

Dean pauses with Cas on the stairs when the Beta stalls suddenly and holds Dean back with an arm. He’s not going to help Alpha, but someone should—Dean can stay put if Cas wants him to, but someone should be with Alpha. Dean’s carrying and Sam needs to be the daddy, he needs protection to make sure he’s there…

Gabriel. Thank god, he’s there and he’s helping, he’s beside Alpha, goodgoodgood…

“I’m warning you, John, I will kill you. You’re drunk. If you don’t leave, I will _end_ you. Trust me.”

“Back the fuck up.” Gabriel’s good, he’s defending, good.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, boy? I’m your goddamn father, you show me some _respect_.”

Father? But…but Alpha said his dad was dead, he said he was gone and… Dean looks up at Cas and nudges for his attention. But the Beta ignores him. Purposely. Oh.

…what’s going on?

“Get. Out. _Now_.”

Sam’s eyes are flashing and…he’s gonna shift again. Dean hasn’t had to see it since Elliot and, Christ, he doesn’t want to now. Not in anger, not like this. Please, Sam, please…

“Don’t you Alpha me, boy,” the Gamma—John—says, pointing a drunken-shaking finger at Sam. “I have a right to see my son.”

Doesn’t look like he wants to from here. Sam definitely doesn’t want him, he really should just go before Alpha kills him and stains the tiling on a very, very good night. Cas was in a bad way when he came in and then—somehow—Dean managed to make it better and it was gonna be so good when Alpha told everyone, it _should_ be good…

It won’t be now. After this, everything will be wrong.

“You’re the one that lost him!” Alpha screams at the man, hunching lower like he’s _this_ close and Dean’s shaking against Cas. “You have _no_ right!”

“You get out of my way, boy,” out of his way? He’s here to see him, isn’t he? Sam doesn’t…doesn’t have a brother, right? He would have told Dean, right? “He’s my _son_.”

“You have no idea,” and Sam’s nearly crying now, his voice so taut with emotion that Cas has to tut at Dean and physically hold him back, cradling him to a strong, pale blue coated chest. “No fucking idea what he had to go through. You nearly killed him, do you get that? He was…he was _gone_ , you bastard. And _I_ found him, _I_ made him again. You owe him _nothing_. Fuck you. _Leave_.”

…who?

Sam wouldn’t…he wouldn’t, right?

Alpha doesn’t lie to Dean, he said so himself. Dean’s obviously got this totally wrong.

And when Cas starts moving him, holding a numb Dean to his chest with soft little chitters to his hair as they climb a few steps slowly, John sees them. And he…he starts moving near them, starts towards them and Cas wants to run then, Dean can feel the urgency in his bones, but Dean doesn’t. Dean doesn’t move.

“Dean…” John says, growling behind him when Sam does the same to him. “ _Son_.”

He knows Dean’s name, he knows Dean.

How? He shouldn’t, they didn’t mention it and Sam wouldn’t… _couldn’t_ …

No, Dean doesn’t have a father—neither does Sam but he’s here and this is Sam’s dad, right?

No. _No_.

Sam lied? Sam said he wouldn’t…

Sam shifts, but Dean…Dean’s not really paying much attention. He’s numb—frozen like he’s run his finger under the cold tap for too long, numb and wrong and hurt. Cas is saying something to him, but he can’t hear.

 _Son, son, son_ —that’s the litany in his head, that’s the threat. Cas is safety and, at this point, nothing but background noise.

John shifts too—chestnut, like Sam, nowhere near as huge but so much more terrifying—and he turns to fight the Alpha and Dean can relax, of course he can, Sam’s a monster, he can defend Dean. Gabriel’s shifted too but the rest of the pack is nowhere to be seen…Bobby’s there actually. Standing off to the side. Ellen too, and Jo, but they’re not moving. Their gazes flit from John circling Sam to Dean and…

Sam’s yelping. Limping. Dean didn’t…he didn’t register it but somehow he’s injured from John and the chestnut wolf, the smaller, scary one…he’s headed for Dean.

Sam’shurtSam’shurtSam’shurt…

Cas shifts too. He runs to defend Dean ( _from your father, your own father_ ) but John knocks him aside too, moving up the stairs like a demon.

Dean can’t move. Cas is yelping high-pitched slumping against the wall and Gabe’s licking him in a growl, Dean’s frozen, eyes wide on this Gamma and Alpha’s growling down below them on the floor, desperate to move but he can’t…he’s injured. Cas is injured.

Dean turns and runs when the jaws snap at him—turns and jolts up one measly little step before the jaws descend and push themselves into the bone of Dean’s ankle.

He screams. He kicks and dislodges and John growls before scampering closer and Dean stands, he stands on his bloody foot and it’s gone. Right from under him, it’s gone and then he is too.

Past Cas, past Gabriel—wisps of vision as he tumbles past them in red and pain, hits his head on the banister, lands in a heap at the foot of them all. He can’t feel his ankle anymore, so that’s good.

And if he turns his head just an inch, Alpha’s there and Dean can see him, see Sam and he smiles at his mate.

And when the blackness descends, Dean can’t feel anything.

That’s good, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if anything's confusing :)


	10. It runs in the family...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo this is pretty much all back-story (it's my own personal non-kink kink :D) as Sam fills Dean in on what he's missed. Enjoy!!

Dean remembers everything when his eyes flutter open.

 _Everything_. Everything pours back in like vicious  talons, clawing their way back into his memory and sticking in there on spikes. Dug into his brain. Held there. Marring. Ruining.

His ankle’s still throbbing bitterly where he can see it, out from beneath a covering of old Star Wars sheets (the rest of him is cocooned in the things) and propped up on a mountain of pillows. It’s wrapped in white gauze from toes to lower-shin and if Dean tries to shift it, zip-lines of pain move from the tips of his toes all the way to his knee and he offers a keen of discomfort into the room. He hasn’t hurt like this in a long time. It’s making things worse.

 _Worse_.

Alpha lied to him. Blatantly lied to his face and let him believe, let him stew in the knowledge of a family who cared nothing for him, parents who dropped him like _that_. But Sam didn’t come for him until Dean was broken. Until he was a broken in pony rotting in the stables of a vicious Master. He bartered with Alastair. He negotiated the price of Dean ( _he_ paid _for you_ ) as though if the Alpha had denied the price, he would have offered it up as a bad day and left Dean there for further breakage. He left Dean to a home that shoved him in the corner come Christmas and made him watch the other kids laughing with the presents and showing of at him. A home that sold him to an Alpha with every knowledge in the world about what he wanted with a pup of an Omega like Dean was. Alpha’s Dean’s brother and he left him there whilst he built a pack for himself and mated with a Beta and bought a mansion in the middle of the forest. _Get a job. Get rich. Mate with a Beta. Build a thirty-strong pack. Save your baby brother, but only if you feel like it._ Dean was knotted at seven. He couldn’t even get wet yet, and Sam was mated and happy with a _pack_. Dean slept in the old kitchen. Sam bought a house.

( _You have no right to be angry about that, little boy, Alpha still saved you from him, still took you in when no-one else would. He still put a pup in your ruined belly and bit you for a mate, he’s never hurt you. He’s given you a real pack. He’s given you a family_ )

But Dean’s hurting now. Dean hurt with Elliot ( _Sam banished him, he did that for you_ ) and Dean hurt when Ellen sang to him. He’s heard it before, hasn’t he? Back before the home, back when…back when he was Dean, Sam Winchester’s baby brother. Before the knots tore him apart or the heats shoved him from his own brain. Before kids laughed at him for being so obedient. Is if the Sister wouldn’t beat him with a switch if the Omega boy so much as mewled without her permission. Before, before, before.

Why didn’t Sam just tell him? Why didn’t he tell Dean the second he woke up in that bed, the second Dean curled himself into the new Alpha’s arms? Why didn’t Castiel? Or Gabriel? Or Jo, or Ellen, or Bobby? Because they all knew. Dean knows they did.

And now Dean’s hurting like nothing’s ever hurt him before. His ankle throbs, of course (he’s sprained it playing chase with Master plenty of times, back when he thought it was only an innocent game) but it’s deeper than that, the pain. It’s bone deep. Terminal. Agony.

He’s probably lost the pup. The whole length of his being is aching in bruises and bumps from his tumble down the stairs, his head feels smashed open like a watermelon. He doesn’t dare touch it. He’s not so brave.

He’s lost his Alpha’s pup, his _brother’s_. Everything was good and in the space of, what, five minutes? Every went wrong; so very wrong and Dean wouldn’t be surprised if he were left barren after the fall. He wouldn’t be surprised if he could never walk again ( _you can feel the pain in your ankle, you’re fine_ ). No Alpha, brother or not, would want a crippled, barren omega. No one.

“Dean?” comes a voice, basely familiar in a desperate gasp of recognition, and Dean turns his head towards his Beta. Castiel’s staring at him. He lowers his backside to perch against the edge of Dean’s bed (Gabriel’s bed; not sure why) and soft hands move to stroke, carefully, against the edges of Dean’s cheeks. They’re probably avoiding bruises. Dean doesn’t want to imagine what he looks like right now. “How do you feel?”

“You knew,” he says instead. His voice is croaked from disuse, but by the way Castiel’s eyes lower to his sternum, they pack the punch Dean implied.

Cas’ chest—donned in a fresh pale blue shirt—heaves in a sigh, and his hands pull back to himself, back to rest stoically on his lap. He flicks his gaze up again. “I did. Sam was going to tell you, in his own time. When the timing was right.”

“Never gonna be right,” Dean says, turning his gaze to the window opposite them, laced and weaved with patterns of the rain. “He wasn’t gonna tell me.”

“He was, sweetheart, I promise.” Hands hover in the air for a second, before seemingly relenting and simply tucking the sheets beneath Dean’s chin. “It would have been too… _rocking_ for you if we told you straight away. We just decided you’d be more comfortable in a pack environment before you knew his…secret. I’m sorry Dean.”

Dean shakes his head, feeling tears edging, “Needed family,” he insists. “Needed…a _brother_. Anything.” He sighs again, and closes his eyes. “I felt wrong, you know. I knew…I knew, in the back of my head, that this…this was familiar. Ellen sang me a song and I knew it. Why I pushed you that time, it just. It felt wrong, knowing something I didn’t get. I recognised your scent but I’ve never been to the sea before. I didn’t understand and I…I didn’t like it.”

The Beta scent edges into something warm with guilt, tightens as the hands at Dean’s chest rise and deposit themselves against the pillow beside each of Dean’s ears. He draws them in and caresses Dean, offering that seaside scent from his wrists. Dean mewls in the paper-thin grip.

“I knew you as a pup, you know,” he says, his voice light with a smile but stuck by tears behind it. His thumb moves over Dean’s temple. “Our families were friends, even back then. You were well behaved, whenever Sam asked something of you. I don’t think you ever really glanced at your father to be honest, your brother was a lot more interesting. And when he presented…” Dean glances back at him, to the face marred by silent tears and twisted into a smile, “you couldn’t leave him be for a second. Maybe we should have guessed your gender. Sam blames himself for that, you know.” The Beta sniffs. “Not knowing. I personally don’t think it would have made much of a difference. Your father is a stubborn man and Sam was a barely presented pup—even if he was an Alpha. It’s not his fault Dean. He tried, alright? He really did.”

Dean blinks up at the Beta above him, turning into one perfectly scented wrist and sucking the air there into his nose. Like the seaside. Like ice-cream and sand and sun cream and…family.

He presses his lips to the delicate skin there and rests. “Have I ever been to the sea?” he asks, letting the hand smooth over him.

Cas strokes him gently. “Yes,” he offers, voice smiling. “Sam would talk to me about that, when I had nightmares. He’d hold me in his arms and soothe me. He’s good at that, isn’t he?” he asks, and Dean nods dazedly. “He’d keep me safe in his bed and tell me he’d never let Lucifer near again. And he’d tell me about you. This was before anything became of us, but I knew what it wouldn’t be entirely platonic for long. He’s the one that got me to talk again, talking about you. He’d ask if I remembered when you got locked in the bathroom and didn’t make a peep the whole time. Just grinned and held your arms up to Sam. He’d tell me you loved going to the sea. You loved ice cream. Paddling in shallow pools.” His voice grows weary and Dean burrows closer, offering his throat, but Castiel just palms it, smoothing along the stretch of skin. “He loved you, little one. He loved you more than anything, I can promise you that.”

Dean gulps. “Why did I…how?”

Castiel shakes his head when Dean looks again and his scent emits the same twist as the one curving up his features. All of a sudden Dean remembers he was hurt. Enough to be out of the action, at least, and Dean knows he’d never be that willingly. Gabriel was worried about him.

“He never abandoned you, Dean, I promise. But…that’s not my story to tell, little one. When he’s well enough to return, he’ll tell you everything. More than I can right now.”

“Are you badly hurt?” Dean asks, rising one hand and making it meet with the Beta’s wrist. His torso aches, but it’s bearable. No broken ribs at least. “Is…is Alpha hurt?”

 _When he’s well enough to return_ …what does that mean?

Castiel shakes his head and lowers his lips to Dean’s knuckles. “I’m alright, Dean. John caught me during the shift but…no, I’m fine. Alpha wasn’t paying attention and John took his chance whilst he could. He’ll be right as rain in a few days, I promise. He’ll be fine. You both will.”

Dean frowns at that, peering over at the bowed Beta attached to his hand. In a few days? How badly was Alpha hurt, he should be healed by now, he should be here explaining…Dean frowns deeper when he registers.

“What about the pup?” he croaks, fluttering his free hand to the smooth skin of his belly and palming across it. Besides the ache, he feels no different—maybe if he were a little further along and he smelt of pregnancy, they’d know more. Then again, he’d be stretched by the pup and it would’ve been doomed to even more danger.

Castiel’s not looking at him.

“Cas?” Dean prompts, retrieving his hand. “Cas, the pup. _Please_ , Cas.”

“Dean…” he says, gripping back at the hand and reclaiming it for his own, pressing his lips against each individual finger. “Hush, little pup. We can’t know for sure right now—you haven’t bled, so that’s a good sign. You’re early on. There’s still a good chance it’s safe in there, but…” his eyes are glassy when they meet Dean’s again and he can feel his own features crumble at the notion. “I won’t give you false hope, sweetheart. In all likelihood, it’s damaged from the fall or gone altogether. We’ll know soon though, I promise. We’ll take you to a hospital. Get it checked out. Hush, baby, it’s alright. We can try again, can’t we? Keep you locked up in bed and away from angry Beta’s, hmm? Shh, sweetheart, it’s okay, baby, it’s okay.”

Not okay. This is a gift from Alpha. A gift from both of them and Dean’s ruined it for everyone, the whole entire pack. Just because he couldn’t run fast enough or he couldn’t keep his footing or face his fears and help his family. The family he once had tucked safely inside his belly ( _you don’t know it’s gone, calm down_ ) and he couldn’t even protect that. What use is he now? Barren. Worthless. Even his own brother won’t want him.

“You’re mother used to sing that song to you,” Castiel says instead, pushing Dean’s tears away with his thumbs. “The one Ellen sang? It’s by The Beatles.” Dean nods in tired recognition. Gabriel had forced him to listen months ago to an album, though Dean can’t remember hearing Ellen’s song. Or his mother’s. Then again, Dean can’t remember her. “She’d sing it to you every night before you went to sleep. You loved it. I’m sorry it was hard for you, Dean. I’m sorry you can’t remember, and I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. We had no right, and I apologise.”

“What happened to her?” Dean chokes, turning his head back to Cas’ hand. “My mom.”

Castiel sighs, “She passed, before you were forced away. Cancer.”

Dean nods. “Oh. Did you know her?”

The Beta’s lips curl into an exhausted smile and he huffs out a reminiscent laugh against the skin of Dean’s cheek. “I did. I was very lucky to.” He sighs once more. “Mary Winchester was probably the best woman I’ve ever known. She seemed to just… _know_ how unhappy I was in my own pack—both Gabriel and I—and we’d be visiting their house more than we did our own. Gabriel would be with Sam, in his room. I used to help her feed you.” He smiles, wispily. “I remember you enjoyed pulling at my hair.”

Dean offers a timid smile with a wet sniff, his lips still quivering.

“You were a very eager little thing. Everyone who met you fell in love instantly. Heh. Maybe we should have guessed your gender after all. You loved sleeping in your brother’s bed, every night you could get away with it you’d sneak into the covers and curl against him. He complained, but he loved it. He loved you.”

“Still do,” comes a bitingly familiar voice, and when Dean’s gaze whips up, Sam’s stood in the doorway, leaning heavily against it and looking absolutely knackered. Dean’s Omega wars with the notion of needing his Alpha back in bed and safe, and wanting him as close as he can get. In the end his chittering throat makes his mind up for him, and Sam’s smiling as he limps his way into the room. Castiel leaps up and offers his shoulder with a well-intentioned scowl.

“What happened to bed rest?” Castiel demands, allowing him access to the antique armchair when he drags it over to the head of the bed. Sam drops into it with a huffed out laugh, and rubs at his head.

“Doctor’s orders, I know. But I’m awake, and I decided it would be a waste if I couldn’t even come and see,” he eyes Dean sadly, “my baby brother.”

The tears come again, but Dean’s not crying. He’s unsure if they’re happy that his Alpha seems to be alright, if not slightly pale—or saddened that he’d been lied to for so long; depressed at the notion of losing the most important thing Alpha’s ever bestowed him. Sam reaches a hand to Dean’s cheek and wipes the salted drops away with one strong, callused thumb.

“Will you give us a few, angel?” he asks, not even offering Castiel a glance. Dean watches though, and he sees the wisp of a smile float across the Beta’s face, the slow nod he gives before turning and limping slightly over to the door. He closes it gently behind.

“I’m sorry,” Dean says. He can’t seem to look Sam in the eye when the words leave, doesn’t really want to try. “I’ve lost it. I’ve lost your pup.”

Sam _tsk_ ’s him, offering calming, “Shshshsh,” noises as his thumb picks up speed. He edges it to the puffed lines of Dean’s lips. “Cas says he’s not even sure if we’ve lost anything, precious-baby. We don’t know for sure yet. Besides, Dean,” he says, cupping Dean’s chin in his palm and tilting, until Dean’s eyes have no choice but to meet with kind ( _knew they were familiar, he knew it_ ) hazel eyes, “We can always try for another, and another,” he smiles dolefully. “If that’s something you still want with me.”

It strikes Dean for the hundredth time since John called him his ‘son’, that Sam—the Alpha, _his_ Alpha, the bravest and most perfect man Dean’s ever even met—is his own brother. Months of ignorance. Months of not knowing, kept in the dark like every pitiful little Omega out there because he’s _too weak_ to handle that kind of knowledge.

“I’m sorry, baby brother,” Sam whispers, leaning down and pressing dry lips to the just-slightly revealed meat of Dean’s shoulder. He mouths there as he speaks, breath damp. “I’m so sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I let them take you. I’m sorry you had to grow up in that _place_. I’m sorry your first Alpha was a psychopath. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you safe, and I’m sorry I couldn’t find you quicker.”

Dean has questions. Looping through his head about everything Sam’s just said and he wants to ask them, he will. But the first words that escape his lips to his newly discovered brother are, “You negotiated a price for me. You said Alastair’s price for me was too much, even a ‘trained Omega’ wouldn’t cost as much as I did. You were gonna leave me.”

Sam’s face crumples when the tears fall down it, but Dean can’t force himself to care. That knowledge; that _memory_ , it’s been swirling his brain since the very second this Alpha knotted him, since he realised he was wanted here—but he managed, after the love they offered to him, to ignore it as best he could. He proved them wrong, right? He showed his Alpha he was worth the price of a ‘professional’ and he damn well proved his worth. But now…now it’s back full force and punching it’s way to the forefront of Dean’s denials.

His brother’s voice is rough when he says, “Fuck, Dean. I didn’t even…I didn’t register that you’d even hear that, I wouldn’t have…” he shoves a hasty hand through his hair and sits back up, though one hand still clutches at Dean’s like a lifeline. “I had to. Jesus, baby, I would’ve paid double that crap, _triple_ if it meant having you back with me. You even know how hard it was to watch you stumble into that room—” he sobs out a devastated little sound and Dean’s lips curl at the sound of it. He frowns up at Alpha, gaze soft at his words. “I wanted nothing more than to just…just have you in my arms, _finally_. But Alastair would have never given you to me if he suspected anything more than an attempt at boosting my pack status. If he’d known you were my brother, he’d have knotted you in front of me and laughed in my face. Denying his price is one of the hardest things I’ve had to do, but…I did anything I could to get you back. It was the only way I knew I could have you, without limitations. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you had to hear it, baby.”

Dean gulps around his next question, but he’s not putting limitations on himself either. He needs to know. “Did you always know I was there? With Alastair?”

Sam sighs and averts his gaze. “I couldn’t find you in the home, John made sure of it. You were Dean Smith, weren’t you?” Dean nods, only just realising. He’s not Smith. He’s a Winchester. “And as soon as you were sold to Alastair, it did take me a while again, long enough for me to build a pack willing enough to hunt for connections. An Alpha friend of mine, Benny—he heard Alastair had taken on a new Omega, a pup-boy by the name of Dean. I didn’t allow myself to hope, but…I became friendly with him, once my pack numbers were up to scratch. A young Alpha with twenty-five strong, it was all but unheard of. The first time I saw you again, it was just a glimpse, like a mirage, but I knew. You were outside. You seemed so happy, running around. I almost gave up then, baby,” he says, stroking through Dean’s hair sadly. “I didn’t want to take you away from a place that brought you comfort, not if the rejection would give you so much pain. I suppose it was lucky I never relented, though. You could still be there.”

“Thank you,” Dean says hastily. He peers up at his brother ( _you’re lucky, Dean_ ) through wide eyes and offers his honesty, his insistence that no matter what, he is grateful. Dean knows Sam’s story is logical; any other Alpha could have taken on the same idea, bought Dean for a simple power boost and keep him locked up forever. So, at the very least, he knows he owes Sam that.

“Don’t thank me, Dean,” he says, though his voice is somewhat lighter for it. “I should have gotten you out sooner. I shouldn’t have let you simmer in so much agony.”

But Dean just shakes his head, eager for the next question. “Why did I have to leave in the first place?”

Sam scowls again, and Dean almost regrets it. Not quite though. “Our mom passed. John, our _father_ ,” he spits, “was a drunken bastard. After I presented, he couldn’t handle having his own son at a higher rank than him in his own house, and he fucking showed it. I never reacted, you hated me upset. You’d cry,” a small smile lights his features, before he sighs and continues. “I came home one day from school and I couldn’t find you; you weren’t in my bed like usual. I asked him about it, and he told me I couldn’t bring you up anyway. He’d called social services in whilst I was in school and they took you away from the house and kept you. They allowed your name changed. They believed I was…” he growls beneath his breath and his hackles rise, “ _touching_ you. As though I’d even _consider_ …you were _four_. They made sure I couldn’t find you and that was that. I left the house that day, scarred our father and made a pack of Ellen, Bobby and Jo. But…I only did that because of you, Dean. Because I knew an Alpha with a pack would have more power than a Rogue one. You inspired everything, Dean. You helped me build what we have right now.”

Dean flinches. “Then you mated with Cas?”

And Sam darkens again. Apparently tired of that, Dean looks at Sam and then pointedly at the stretch of bare bed beside him, nodding shyly with his head until the Alpha seems to understand with a smile, and manoeuvres himself around it, carefully avoiding Dean’s ankle. He curls up to Dean’s side and scents at his throat. Dean strokes along his forearm.

“I stayed in high school,” he says. “Stayed friends with both Gabe and Cas. But a few years after that, my pack bought a house just outside of Boulder, and we lost touch.” He offers a sigh and it’s both wet and comforting against the length of Dean’s neck. “Gabriel showed up at the front door one night, drenched in blood and half beaten to death. He begged for my help. Told me Castiel had been _mutilated_ and that was the last straw, they couldn’t live in a pack that could be so… _savage_. They’d have bruises, back in school. There was nothing I could do, we barely thought anything of it and…I should have done something then. I shouldn’t have let it get to that stage.” Dean pulls him closer, and he rests his head lightly to Dean’s sternum. “I stormed the pack and took them. Bobby had to carry Cas. Gabriel took Maggie, and I had Lucifer in my jaws, but I didn’t kill him, I wouldn’t have dared risk losing the pack for that bastard. Same reason I didn’t rip Alastair limb from limb.

“Castiel wouldn’t talk, you know. He’d curl against himself and ignore everyone but Gabriel, he wouldn’t even _look_ at me.” Sam shakes his head. “I took him to bed, after a month. All but dragged him there, but he stopped panicking once I tucked him in fully clothed and shoved his nose against my neck. I talked to him about you, about our mom. I asked him if he remembered. The first words he said to me were, _“I bet Dean’s so handsome now”_. He slept in my bed after that. We mated not long afterwards, but it took a lot out of him to reveal himself to me like he was. He couldn’t stop shaking the first time we tried anything beyond kissing, but the first time he got slick with Betan instinct, we both knew and he finally let me do it. Wouldn’t stop touching me, poor thing.”

Dean purrs in his throat and lets his Alpha feel it against the top of his head, like a peace offering. He won’t forget this, he’s sure. But for right now, he’s content.

“Are you okay?” he asks, stroking a soft hand through Sam’s hair. “You were hurt.”

His brother huffs a laugh. “I’m tougher than I look, little brother.” Wow. That…that felt good. Dean’s purr turns audible and he shuffles against Sam, curling closer without uplifting his ankle. “Like that, huh?” he teases. “Call you that forever, baby. My perfect baby brother.”

Dean swats him on the arm. “Cas said you should be in bed.”

“I’m in bed.”

“This isn’t the same thing…big…brother?” A risk, but neither are in the position for punishment right now, and Sam appears to have earned quite a lot of his trust in the span of however long Dean’s been out. Ironically. After such a huge lie. But Sam’s also never been quite so truthful in one sitting before, and it’s refreshing.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasps, rocking closer. “You call me that the next time we’re trying for a pup, alright?” And Dean laughs despite the bitter reminder. His brother sobers quickly though, and Dean’s suddenly being stared at and boxed in by a very large Alpha. He’s frowning, but it’s light. Dean mewls for him and he offers a chaste kiss; a bare press of lips, but it helps. “What do you remember, beautiful? From John, what do you remember?”

Dean sucks a lip into his mouth (revelling in the taste of his Alpha and brother both) before plucking it out and admitting, “Everything? I remember coming down the stairs and he was there, and you shifted. He came up towards me, and Cas tried to shift but he hurt him, and then he bit my ankle and I fell down the stairs. I remember looking at you. Then I woke up here.”

Sam’s brow’s knot together and he looks away, thoughtful. “That’s everything?”

Dean nods, but Sam doesn’t reply to it, just peers down at him as though he’s utterly pained. Dean presses, “What? What happened after?”

The Alpha sighs. “Nothing, baby, it’s…” but at Dean’s saddened frown, he relents and shakes his head. “I killed him.” He looks up at Dean in guilt, but he’s not entirely sure why. That’s okay, right? John gave him up to a house full of nuns that caned him for having opinions, he hurt Sam and Cas tons of times over the years. Maybe he deserved to die. “He was bent over you when it happened,” he says, and his voice is whispered as though they’re sharing one big secret. Dean nods his understanding and Sam goes on with a sigh. “He was scenting at you, nudging you with his nose and you were fucking _whining_ , ‘cause he was moving your head around and you were hurting and, fucking _hell_ , Dean, I warned him to stop.” He sounds too flustered, Dean doesn’t like it. “He wouldn’t. He didn’t for a second, just growled at me, so I…I got behind him. I bit his neck open, it was pretty instant. He…he bled all over you, Dean. Landed on you. I dragged him off, but you were awake already and it was too late.”

Dean was awake? “I don’t remember that.”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “Don’t suppose you do. You asked me not to hurt you; begged me not to make you bleed like that—I mean half of it didn’t make sense, but I got the jist. I’m sorry, sweetheart, that you had to see that. I just want you to know that I’ll never hurt you like that, okay? If that’s something you really think…I need you to know I won’t do it. I’ll never hurt you again, you understand me?”

Dean nods. And for the first time since Sam’s asked him, he really, truly means it.

=*=Ω=*=

Once Dean’s better, they take a trip to Castiel’s hospital and everyone—what Dean’s sure is the whole entire workforce—fusses over him. He curls against Alpha’s side for the most part, his heart beating like wild horses inside his chest from the anticipation of what knowledge he’ll soon earn, and to be fair, he must reek of Omegan distress. He must be stinking out the entire maternity ward with the crap.

Cas takes him to a Beta woman called Doctor Pamela, who’s Alpha also works at the hospital as a surgeon like Cas, but she’s not in today. Doctor Pamela works with pregnancy’s all the time and she’s nice to him; not patronizing like the rest. Dean finds he likes her.

“Don’t let this worry you too much there, Dean-o,” she says, manoeuvring the wand inside of him and earning herself an embarrassing little twitch from his end. He shifts against it, unsure. Doesn’t hurt, exactly, but he’s not all that eager to have something so foreign and clinical so deep up inside of him. Alpha offers a chuckle though, and Cas hand tightens against his knee, so Dean forces a shuddering breath out to relax. Pamela smiles at him. “This doesn’t mean you can’t get pregnant again. By all means, try again the second you get home, if that makes you feel better,” and she winks and the others laugh, but Dean cringes back against himself.

His voice is crooked when he asks, “So…it’s gone then? The pup’s gone?”

Pamela offers a kind smile and shifts the probe inside of him. “Now I didn’t say that. We’ll just wait and see, okay? Alright, here we go…” she says, repositioning herself so she can glance back at the screen currently showing grey nothingness that probably means something to her. “Here’s the uterus,” she says. Dean’s heart skips a beat and he wonders idly whether his grip on Alpha’s hand is hurting him; if it is, he doesn’t react. Just presses a kiss to the side of Dean’s forehead. “Just a little bit here…huh,” she says, grinning. “Looks like there’s _something_ still in there.” Dean’ heart thunders beneath his chest and even he can smell the stench of his own scent. A little grey peanut thing slowly comes into his own view on the screen, and Dean’s unsure if he’s ever wanted (needed) something to be true so much in his life before.

“That’s it?” Alpha asks, and Dean hides his face in the crook of his perfect neck because he doesn’t want to see this. They’ll have to cut it out if it’s dead. His cheek slides against Sam’s skin from his tears, but Sam just pats him through.

“That’s it. Hey Dean,” she says, and Dean only glances up at her when Castiel pats his thigh. She’s smiling still, but that doesn’t mean anything. She was smiling before. “Wanna see something really cool?” she points at the screen. “See this little flicker right here?” he nods, his heart in his throat. Sam strokes his thumb against the back of his hand. “That’s the heartbeat of your pup, kiddo. Few months along, but it sure seems fine to me. You’re a skinny thing, but you’ve got enough padding to keep that pup safe. Maybe you’re just too stubborn to let it go.”

But Dean’s not really listening.

His pup’s on the screen. That little flicker, that’s it’s heartbeat. That’s Dean’s uterus and it’s doing its job and it's done it well, thank you very much. Dean…Dean did that. Dean and Alpha, and Cas definitely helped.

And then Dean can’t breathe from the crushing weight of an Alpha hug, but breathing's overrated anyway.

And a week later, he’s reeking of pregnancy so you know what? Dean’s happy.

Yeah. Dean’s real happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so:  
> 1\. I was thinking about doing a one-off chapter about Sam and Cas getting together? Something anyone's interested in? Maybe another one about some of Dean's past?  
> 2\. I was also thinking about doing a fic really similar to this (better written I hope) but with Dean pregnant from Alastair and Sam can't claim him with another Alpha's pup in his belly, so he has to stay in the same house as his pregnant Omegan brother until he can.  
> 3\. I admit, I'm a comment whore. I love them. Ask questions, tell me something that's wrong. Lay it on me.  
> 4\. I know I've been asking for betas and I reeeaaaally do want one. But I don't have the patience to wait for someone to proof-read the fic because I'm ridiculously impatient and I want it posted. So I can get comments. Yup. A dirty, two dollar whore.
> 
>  
> 
> fixed the whole barren thing finally :) thanks for pointing it out


	11. Come Find Me

Dean, by the way, smells fucking _amazing_ padded up from pregnancy. Like…like _ten times_ his usual perfect scent and Sam swears, it’s buried itself into every single crevice of his entire Pack land and exploded sweetness. Fuck, he smells _good_. Perfect. Right.

Like family.

And oddly, he’s not been terrible about the whole estranged-brother-lying thing. Sure, if anyone brings it up or Sam calls him ‘brother’ in the odd incident of lust or bliss, he’ll duck his head just slightly and lose eye contact for just a little while; enough so it usually takes jokes from Gabriel or a few fingers buried between his cheeks for the carefree happiness he’s also adopted to pop right back.  He talks more, too, now—makes jokes about silly little things that Sam’s sure he only makes because he thinks he won’t be offending anyone. Sam laughs at all of them because he’s suddenly the funniest little Omega on the whole face of the entire planet and Sam has never loved anything the way he loves his life right now. And Christ, he does. He loves it.

“You smell happy,” Cas says from beneath one flung out arm, and Sam turns to him to smile at those gigantic, azure peepers blinking up at him. Sam grins giddily and tugs him closer.

“I am happy. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier, actually,” he says.

The ball of pregnancy beside them shuffles beneath the mounds of quilts (Dean gets quiet when he’s cold, and he’s freaking always cold nowadays) and a stray purr vibrates from beneath them. Sam huffs out a laugh.

“Yes,” Cas says, reaching a few stray fingers to release Dean’s beautiful face from its confines of winter sheets. He snuffles against it, but stays sleeping. “Me too. I’m glad the pup came about with everything so… _calm_. As much as we’d have enjoyed it, I don’t think it would’ve been good for the boy to have gotten pregnant during his first heat. He’d almost have definitely lost it anyway.”

Sam’s Alpha growls deep inside of him at the reminder of what almost was (Dean’s still fucking limping and Sam’s foot still feels like shit some days) but he contains it before it can disrupt the air. Cas feels limp beneath him. Sam doesn’t want to feel that tell-tale tensing of his muscles at an angry Alpha. Not like…not like when Lucifer came back.

Sam hadn’t seen his Beta in a state like that since that first moment of lucidity when he carried Cas to the couch in his old Pack-home. When those blue eyes snapped open and he scented an Alpha, felt the pain between his legs again and couldn’t see Gabriel behind Sam. He’d tried to calm the then Gamma, but…he wasn’t ready back then. He wasn’t ready for a long time.

“I’m fine now, Sam,” comes that deepened voice beneath him, and Sam glances back to the Beta. He’s blinking up at him and Sam huffs out a laugh.

“How the hell did you know that’s what I was thinking?” he asks.

One slender little finger moves to Sam’s forehead then, and rubs itself along the crease between Sam’s brows. Cas smiles up at him, lips tilting knowingly.

“You always get this little nick right here whenever you’re worrying about me. That was one of the first thing I noticed, you know. One of the things that made me trust you again.”

They’re talking about this then? Huh. Haven’t really spoken much of anything on the subject since it happened and when Cas came back to the main bedroom that night after Lucifer, he’d curled himself around Dean, knackered, and trembled his way to sleeping. Dean’d blinked up sadly at Sam before he went too, and then in the morning, nothing else was said. Cas had kissed him silly and offered breakfast and apparently that had been that. Dean had one of his quiet days and had sought out Ellen before anything else had happened, but he didn’t want to discuss either. Sam had just…left it. ( _Well, left it as much as keeping every tab possible on the bastard that shoved his mates that way could be. As much as planning every possible alternative outcome from that day that ended with every single smug member of his pack dead on his floor—when he didn’t have to halt the attack he wasn’t willing to risk with his own pack. Sam’s getting to the end of his straw. The next person that threatens…he’s killing. John learned that the hard way. The others soon will_ )

“Am I really so obvious?” he asks his Beta.

“Mhmm,” he hums lazily in reply, and Sam’s mouth barks out a laugh before he silences it quickly and glances over to a still snoozing pup.

Cas laughs at him.

“You always were, once your guard was down.” They’re really discussing this then, huh? Wow, breakthrough. “We don’t have to talk about this, Alpha,” Cas says (Sam’s not easy to read, Cas is a mind reader). “I know you’re not eager to.”

“No,” Sam says instantly. “Angel, I want you to talk about it. We haven’t spoken a word since everything… _happened_. I heard you talking to Dean and that was the most you’ve ever said on the subject, as far as I know. I want to know you’re okay.”

Cas nuzzles in deeper and presses his nose to Dean’s mating bite hovering just above Sam’s left nipple. “I’m okay. You know I’m okay. It’s just that…god, I don’t know, Sam. I’m happy, you know that too. Maggie asked me about it the other day, and I swear to God, I didn’t even know what I was supposed to be _doing_. It just…it just went wrong like _that_ and…I had to ask her to give me a moment. She asked if she should get Gabe, and I told her no, that I’d be fine in a minute. I think I scared her.”

Sam tugs him closer. “You can’t expect things like that to never happen, sweetheart,” he soothes, softening the thread of Alpha he allows into his words. Cas’ spine trembles beneath Sam’s hand. “You went through shit no man should ever have to even _consider_ , and look what you made out of it, huh? You’re a _surgeon_ , baby. You’re smarter than anyone in this Pack and we couldn’t have gotten Dean back if it weren’t for you, angel. I owe you everything.” Castiel mewls as Sam tucks him tighter beneath his arm, closer to his ribs and he presses a kiss to the mop of black hair. “What did Mag’s ask?”

Cas freezes again, but Sam coaxes him out of it. He sucks in a giant breath and breathes it against Sam’s nipple, making it peek. “She wanted to know why Lucifer hurt me so badly; why he hit Gabriel and Anna and cared so much for everyone else. She asked me if he purposely made him angry all the time.”

“Shh, angel, it’s okay,” Sam breathes, turning slightly to pull Cas securely and tightly against his chest. “She’s still so young, Cas, she still has a lot to learn. You’ve still got things to tell her once she’s old enough, right? She’ll understand better then, angel, I promise. Don’t let yourself get worked up over it, please. She’s still a pup.”

Cas backs off, just that little inch. “You don’t think I know that? Alpha…” he huffs out again when Sam mouths at his throat. “She has questions now. I don’t think I can answer them.”

“Does Gabriel know?” Sam asks.

Cas shrugs tiredly.

“I’ll tell him, okay baby? He’ll talk to her, you know he will—I’m sure he can make it lighter than it should be, for a ten year old girl. It’s gonna be fine.”

“I don’t want her to know what they did to me,” Cas says, voice timid and forced. Sam’s Alpha keens for him. “She shouldn’t know what Alphas are capable of in their own pack, I don’t want those ideas in her head right now. She shouldn’t know that… _what_ I am, Sam. I don’t want my niece to know that about me.”

“Hey, angel, it’s okay,” Sam says. “Gabe knows what he’s doing doesn’t he? He knows you better than anyone, baby, he knows what you don’t want everyone knowing. It’s okay.”

“Hey there, little pup,” Cas says randomly. Sam frowns…wait, _what?_ Did he miss something, or… “how long have you been up?”

Sam rolls over to his back with a ready smile once he clicks on, and sure enough, big emerald eyes are staring up at the from their cocoon of sheets; slim little fingers are flexing in the blankets. He starts shuffling away, and Sam frowns again.

“Sorry,” he says hastily, voice damp. Sam reaches tentatively over for him as he edges closer and closer to the edge of the bed and further from the mess of Alpha and Beta. He smells scared, all of a sudden. It’s permeating the room. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

It’s Cas that catches him before he can go crashing to the floor; leaning over Sam (elbow in his ribs) and grabbing a quick hand to Dean’s bicep to keep him stationary on the bed. The Omega mewls sadly and his cheeks start glistening in the early, Sunday morning light, but Cas makes no pause as he crawls completely over the top of Sam and tugs Dean to his chest.

“I’m s-sorry,” he stumbles out, his trembling frame vibrating enough to blur even through Cas’ edges. Omegas don’t like being startled. Christ, especially Dean. “I should have told you I was awake, I—”

“Hush, puppy,” Sam says, swooping them both into his arms and squeezing. “It’s okay. No harm done, little one.”

“You already know everything that’s happened to me, Dean,” Cas says smoothly. “I wouldn’t keep anything from you.”

Dean blinks up at both of them, gaze flitting from Sam to Cas and back again. “You told me,” he says, voice quiet. “When…when we were talking, right at the start, you told me what Lucifer did to you, right?” Cas nods. “Why?” Dean asks. “You…you don’t like people knowing but you told me and you didn’t even know me at all, you didn’t have to. Why d’you tell me?”

Cas’ voice comes out in a huffed laugh to begin with, as he pulls Dean’s still shivering frame to him, and he calms swiftly with, “You didn’t notice when we were in the bath, did you?” and it takes a second, but Dean finally nods in agreement. Cas sighs. “You were going to find out later, and you asked me what Lucifer had done. And you,” he says, pressing his mouth to the corner of Dean’s and earning an uneven sigh of content, “were always,” he kisses Dean’s lips, “ _you_. I’d tell you everything, baby.”

“Love you,” Dean says lazily, arching himself into the ministrations. “Love…love everything ‘bout you, Cas, ‘kay? Want you.”

They don’t go downstairs to start the day until Dean’s been licked out thoroughly, Sam knots Cas into a trembling little ball, and Sam comes himself _three times_.

Aaaaand he’s happy again. Look at that?

 

**_Seven years ago…_ **

Sam answers the door with a smile on his face, still sticking his tongue out at Jo when the familiar figure swims into view.

“…Gabriel?” he says, incredulous. They haven’t seen each other in…fuck, _years_ , what the hell is he doing here now? At, like, eleven o’clock on a Sunday night—he sure as hell never made the effort to visit before.

“Sam? Fuck, man, I need your help, okay? He…he _cut Cas_ , Sammy, he fucking mutilated him, and Anna’s…Anna’s dead, Sam, you need to fucking help him, please, I’m fucking begging you here, we need another Alpha, Cas needs yo—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Sam hastens, holding his hands up to halt the babbling Gamma, before tentatively reaching out to get a good grip on his shoulders. The body jerks beneath his fingers, but the second Sam gets his wrist beneath his nose, Gabe’s relaxing against him, heaving out a giant breath. Sam tugs him in, offering the slight gap of shirt to his clavicle. “Gabe?” the Gamma nods jerkily. “I need you to tell me what’s happened, okay, man? Shshsh,” he says quickly, once breathes start coming too fast again. “Hey, it’s okay, Gabe, it’s fine, you’re safe here. Hush, buddy, it’s good. Just tell me what’s going on, and I can help, huh? Calm down for a sec, and tell me what’s happening.”

Sam’s not entirely sure he wants to know, after Gabriel’s little panicked admission. Sam’s heart has all but stopped beneath his calming pretence and with the blood Sam can now smell bitterly beneath his friends jacket…this is _not_ going to be good.

_‘he cut Cas—’_

_‘mutilated him—’_

_‘Anna’s dead—’_

“They’ve hurt him,” Gabriel mumbles, caught between an Alpha’s scent of calming and peace. It’s a knack he’s been perfecting quite recently, actually. Whenever Jo’s up to a decent scenting on the living room floor. “Didn’t think he’d wake up, Sammy, they hurt him so bad. Used to let them fuck him, you know. He used to beat me to the floor whenever it happened—you remember all those times I was off school?” he asks suddenly, and Sam nods against him, bewildered. He strokes a consoling palm through the honey hued hair and allows the foreign Gamma’s fingers to dig into his jacket. “’Cause I couldn’t move,” he laughs humourlessly. “Cas was all shy, wasn’t he?” Sam waits a beat, thoughts churning, before he nods in agreement. “’Cause he’d just been knotted dry. Couldn’t even sit down, d’you know that? Luci still made him go to school, still shoved him in the backseat of the car.” Oh God, Sam remembers that; a wincing, timid little Castiel whenever he waved hello ( _worse after the change, wasn’t it? Wouldn’t even glance at you anymore_ ), whenever Gabriel was off skiving with his Alpha. Fuck, Gabe used to say they were going on _hikes_.

(Yeah, and come back with yellowing bruises, you ignorant bastard)

“Jesus fuck,” Sam hisses, tightening his grip on the Gamma. “I didn’t…I didn’t know, Gabe.”

He chuckles again and it makes Sam want to punch something—lower this trembling being in his arms to the floor and punch something ‘till his fists bleed. “No one did, don’t worry about it, gigantor. S’what he wanted.”

His head snaps up, suddenly, and dislodges Sam’s hand. Eyes widen as they dilate away from Sam’s ministrations and he frowns, shoving away.

“Gabe, hey,” Sam says, stubbornly moving to follow the scent his body’s been designed for, that distress calling for him like a beacon, but Gabriel steps back again and Sam gets the idea.

“Sammy, fuck, wait.” He holds a hand out and Sam pauses. Gabe sucks in a breath. “You need to come and help Cas, okay? Sam, please, he’s still _bleeding_ , he’s still fucking—”

“Gabriel,” Sam snaps out this time, Alpha voice clear. They don’t…they clearly don’t have time for this if Cas is that badly hurt— “You need to tell me what’s happened.”

Gabriel’s eyes are like piercing amber when they bore into Sam’s. “They hurt him, Sam,” he says slowly. “Like a dog. They cut him into pieces like an unruly animal.” Holy… _fuck_. “Buy him. Please. You buy him away from Lucifer, I’ll pay you everything I have, okay? You have to save him. You have to.”

“Bobby!” Sam calls back into the house, and when he looks back, Jo’s stood right where she was, just five minutes ago, looking about as pale as a ghost. Sam smiles at the pallid, traumatised looking face, but she doesn’t react. But fuck, Sam doesn’t have time for this right now, he’ll calm her when he gets back—once he has big-blue-eyed Castiel in his arms, he’ll drag them all to the carpet and he’ll scent them, no restrictions. Gabriel too.

Bobby rounds the corner, flustered. “What?” he demands. He pauses when Gabriel comes into view, though, his eyes narrow as he takes in their scents. “What’s happened?”

“Get the truck,” Sam says, darting a kiss to Jo’s cheek. “Jo, sweetheart, go grab Ash for me, will you? And Ellen? Go, baby, it’s okay.”

“What’s happened to Cas?” she asks instead, voice smaller than Sam’s ever heard, and he only just manages to hold in a really fucking frustrated growl.

“Jo,” he says, words sticky with Alpha. “ _Go_.”

She goes.

In the truck, Gabriel lets Sam scent him, but he puts his foot down when Sam suggests the other way around. “Can’t, just…get Castiel, okay?”

Ellen flanks his other side and strokes along his hand, palming at the scabbed fingers. Bobby drives, Ash rides shotgun—the whole truck reeks of fear and bitterness, Gabriel’s scent of congealed blood and Sam can’t help the pump of guilt darting through his veins. He saw them, when they were so off back at school. He was there, when Cas couldn’t look him in the eyes after that first whiff of newly Alphaic Sam, that offer of fear and the sliver of neck he gave—Jesus, Sam just thought he was behaving like so many of the others, offering obedience once they remembered he had ( _Dean, fuckfuckfuck_ ) no siblings to Beta with. No, it wasn’t. Cas was fucking _terrified_ of him.

Oh god, timid little Cas with the big blue eyes and ridiculously untamed hair; who loved baby Dean, Sam thinks, more than John ever did, even when Mary was alive. And the Cas who fought away his fears and offered his scent along with Gabe and Jo and Ellen and Bobby when Sam’s baby brother was ripped right out from under him, his future Beta—gone. Cas…fucking _castrated_ by some psychopath Alpha Gabriel never let Sam meet. Always some excuse or another.

Sam should have paid more attention. He should have saved them before all this shit could happen.

“Here,” Gabriel says suddenly, his voice vibrating his throat where Sam’s currently stuck his nose. He looks up, out of the window at the Beta’s words, though.

It’s a Pack House, that much is for sure. Enough to fit twenty, thirty easy enough, and Lucifer’s not young. He’s been at this a hell of a lot longer than Sam has. Sam has three backups. Lucifer has a pack.

Gabriel doesn’t knock when he walks in. He’s trembling though, and it takes everything Sam has inside not to tug the Gamma back to his chest and make him smell like Winchester pack, and not this shit Sam’s scenting—Lucifer’s pack and that sweet underlying of young Omega, freshly mated. Yeah, Sam remembers Lilith. Fucking bitch.

It strikes Sam oddly that no matter how long he’s known the Novak family, he’s never been inside their Pack House before. He’s never even seen it, actually. Not odd, maybe. Meticulous.

By the time all five of them reach Castiel ( _little Cas, poor Cas_ ) and Gabriel’s bedroom…they smell it. That… _reek_ of blood and fear and fucking agony—the scent wafting off in destroying troves and there’s panting coming from the other side of the door. Gabriel swings in, panting, and Sam follows.

It’s not…it’s not good.

“Cas?” Gabe says instantly, drifting over to the bed. “Hey, brother, you okay there, huh?”

The black haired boy is trembling, which is the first thing Sam’s brain allows him to register. He’s out flat on the bed, body lifting slightly with the force of his shivers, hips twitching against air…the blood’s the next. Too much of it. Staining crappy cheap sheets in pints, leaking like anything through the front of his boxers, covering his hands, messed into his hair. He’s…he’ dying. He must be.

“Holy _crap_ ,” Ellen hisses from Sam’s side, and Sam can hear Ash shuffling on his feet.

“G-Gabriel?” comes a weak, timid little voice, and suddenly those notorious big blue eyes come into view, floating in his skull as he aims a gaze at his brother. It takes a few minutes, but he makes it, pinning Gabe down with that one look and a handful of soft fingers clawing up for him. Gabriel takes them in his own and holds them to his cheek, scenting him.

“Yeah, s’me baby brother, I’m back buddy, s’okay,” Gabriel chants, rocking back and forth slightly, taking Castiel with him.

“Who’s this?” and Sam’s gaze darts up to another Gamma, one he didn’t even notice in the room before, not with Cas laying…where he is. Female, this one. Dark hair, skin stained in blood, harrowed expression. Sam doesn’t recognise her.

“The Alpha,” Gabe replies offhandedly. He’s stroking his brother’s hair and Castiel is trembling beneath him, throat offering these broken little mewls. “Get Lucifer, Meg. Need to get Cas out of here.”

The brunette leaves past them with a glare, but Sam’s not paying attention. He’s already walking closer. “Gabe,” he starts, but the Gamma pays him no mind.

Ellen’s soft hand halts him from moving closer to the pair, and as much as Sam’s Alpha wants to snarl at her for it, he does understand the sibling’s need for their comfort. Better than most maybe, having lost his own.

The room reeks of blood and fear; clogged with it even. Echoes of Castiel’s noises beat their way into the air and his ragged breaths offer Sam more fuel for a fire he didn’t even know about before now. But…he’ll save little Cas. He’ll fucking do it if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

“Twenty thousand for them both,” comes a voice, and Sam is growling then because that slimy fucking _bastard_ is behind them. He swings round with the anger vibrating inside of him and _snarls_. Lucifer just smiles. “I knocked some off, considering, you know.” He holds his hand up to mock whisper and Castiel starts mewling in earnest behind them and Sam will kill him— “They’re not all quite there. The little skank’s not making me much of a profit now anyway. At least the short one served well as stress relief, but I fear he won’t be much fun anymore.” He pouts. “On second thoughts, ten thousand. I just want rid of them.”

“You’re a sick fuck, you know that?” Sam growls. “Why the fuck would you _do_ that to a kid? Your own fucking _pack_.”

Lucifer laughs at him, and turns, “Not here for boring insults, Sammy. Take them and go, I won’t offer again. I expect the money in my account by morning or I’ll be back and I’ll be taking your pack with me, understood? Yes? Good. Now. Off you go, little dog.”

For a moment, Sam wonders if he’d just imagined that whole thing; whether that really was Lucifer, and maybe he takes his time watching the empty doorway; because after a second, Gabriel’s calling for him and Castiel’s sobbing raggedly into the air.

Sam carries him to the car. He cradles him to the hospital. He doesn’t sleep until Castiel opens his eyes with the IV in him, stable, and screams at him. Sam doesn’t leave though. Not for a good while yet.

 

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I'm getting kinda bored with this, just 'cause the writing's pretty shit and the story-line sucks ass. I'll still probably continue anyway. Would you rather me re-write it? Maybe with Dean pregnant when Sam finds him? I've been trying to write that for ages, but inspiration refuses to strike, I guess. Or would you prefer I focus on other stories? Let me know :)


	12. Cas and Sammy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a lil' tale of Cas n' Sammy :) you don't have to read it, but it's there if you want

They take Cas home (back to Sam’s Pack Land, the Novaks’ as well now, thank God) after two weeks of them all stewing unhappily in the too-clean depths of the hospital. He’s in a wheelchair—a sight which dregs wonderful images of Lucifer’s throat nestled tight between Sam’s jaws into the forefront of his mind—hunched against one arm of it and ignoring Sam’s low voice as he shows the Gamma the lower floors of his home. Gabriel’s right there beside them both, hip to hip with Sam, one hand nestled in Cas’ messed up hair and the other helping Sam to steer the thing. He arrows it outside after Castiel mewls out this yawn—one that practically _begs_ for Sam to claim him, fucking _needs_ but Sam doesn’t dare—and presses his dried lips to Sam’s cheek as a quick, temporary farewell as he toes down the break and sits next to his brother on a stone bench just beside the French-window. Sam pats a hand against Cas’ trembling wrist and tries not to cringe when the Gamma jerks it away, yipping slightly, startled. He zips his gaze to Gabriel and keeps it there, exuding terror. Sam apologises quickly and skitters away.

Ellen meets him in the foyer and pulls his head down to her throat, vibrating it in a kind chuckle.

“Don’t blame him, Sammy,” she soothes, carding her fingers through his hair. He keens out a sigh and rests quickly, narrowing them towards a love-seat perched just inside of the door and lowering them against it, wrapped up in each other’s arms. Sam huffs at a stray strand of her hair. “It’ll take him some time.”

“I’m nothing like him, though,” he points out stubbornly. “He’s acting as though I’ll hurt him like Lucifer did, and I’d never—”

“Hey,” Ellen soothes, pulling his face up again to eye it critically. She’s still soft though, which makes Sam smile. “You know that. I know that. But that boy has been through things neither of us can even begin to imagine, he’s bound to have reservations relating to you. Relating to all of us. He needs trust, Sam. He needs stability.”

Yes, well. Sam gives him two more weeks.

Two more weeks, as it turns out, of violently avoided gazes, stuttered replies to Gabriel’s words when they’re in the presence of the rest of the pack, trembling limbs when he’s finally deemed well enough to escape the wheelchair. He doesn’t eat near them. He doesn’t sleep near them. And fuck, the ache of residing in an unfamiliar pack for so long, not letting his new Alpha officially initiate him…it must be torture. In his weakened state, it must be absolute _agony_ , but the boy shows no signs of relenting. He barely even glances up when Sam’s in the room.

Two weeks, and Sam goes to Gabriel.

“I’ve tried telling him, Sammy,” he says softly, his words damp with cherryade against Sam’s clavicle (his Alpha hardwired for giving attention to his newest official recruit, ignoring Cas scared and in need is hurting him too). Sam opens his legs wider to accommodate the Gamma. Gabriel slips closer with a contented sigh. “Trust me, I want him comfortable too—I get the toll this is taking on both of you, but…he won’t listen to me. I can’t exactly force him after everything, can I?”

Sam huffs a breath against the top of his Gamma’s hair and revels in the drift it gives the honey coloured strands. “It needs to happen, Gabe. Whether he wants it or not is entirely different from _need_. He can’t live like this. Not so soon after. I have to do something.”

Gabriel lifts up at that and peers down at him, his hands clutching at stretch of cotton where they rest against Sam’s chest, and he frowns, unsurely. “What are you gonna do?”

Sam sighs once more, “I was thinking of taking him to my bed—” Gabriel scoffs as he lifts off, but Sam grabs a hand resting on his own pec and holds him still. “No, listen,” he says quickly. “I’m not about to touch him, alright? Jesus. I’ll tuck him in, get him around my scent, alright? Fully clothed, I won’t even touch him. All at once, right? Like pulling off a Band-Aid.”

Gabriel wrestles the rest of the way out and continues his scowling now he’s inches above his alpha, sorting his own shirt out where they’re reclined on the couch. Cas asleep just a floor above them locked in Gabriel’s new room.

They’ll have to move soon. Once Sam’s pack gets bigger than seven.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think this wound needs a Band-Aid, Sammy. He’s my kid brother, surely he deserves more than some piece of fabric analogy, for God’s sake—”

Sam halts him with his mouth against the Gamma’s wrist, sucking in the scent. “Hush, Gabe. Let me try it? He’s not letting me do the gentle thing, and he needs a pack, now more than ever. I’ll get you up the second he panics more than I can deal with alright? If he does. You can come join us after a little while.”

Gabriel just stares and Sam offers his lips. “I’ll give you an hour, then I’m coming in, alright? And damn straight he’ll panic, you’re dragging him to your bed, for fuck’s sake…Sam, I don’t think you should do this to him—what if he—?”

“I know what he can take, Gabriel,” Sam soothes. “I can take care of him for you, I will.”

It takes a while. But Gabriel does relent.

 

Cas is in the living room watching Friends with Jo when Sam comes for him. Two hours before dinner—Cas just went to the toilet, he just had a snack after Ellen insisted and he’s just spent all morning in bed with Gabriel. Sam’s timed this perfectly. No interruptions.

He freezes, his back goes taut and his neck arches when he scent’s Sam behind him in the doorway. Tries to make himself smaller, Sam guesses. It makes him ill to consider that being something he’s had to perfect over time, to try and award himself a night off from… _rape_. Fuck.

“Cas,” Sam tries soothingly, smiling gently when he gains the Gamma’s attentions. The man blinks sadly up at him from where he stares over his shoulder, and Sam winks gently as he holds out a hand. Cas just stares at it for a second, before embarrassment and fear hit the air and he zips his gaze back to the TV as some sort of distraction. Sam bets he had to do that as a kid too. Poor fucking thing. “Will you come with me please?”

Nothing. Bar heavier breathing, off course, panting breaths; his shoulder’s hunch higher as his torso lowers, but he doesn’t speak or glance Sam’s way. So Sam steps closer.

“Cas…I won’t hurt you. I’m not gonna do anything to you, I promise.”

But he just shrinks lower, offering a tight mewl into the air until Jo just blinks sadly at the both of them and stands, leaving through the way Sam came in. The living room’s empty now. Castiel whines louder.

Sam moves closer.

“Please,” he chokes out once the Alpha’s close enough to touch; to hurt—he scrambles to his feet and stands there panting, staring up at Sam as though he’s utterly resigned to the idea already but disgusted and terrified all the same. Sam resents being watched like that, but he doesn’t blame his Gamma. _His_ Gamma. Soon, now. Very soon.

He thrashes against the grip when Sam forces it; wrestles his Alphaic strength with all he has, whining and sobbing out these pathetic little mewls that has Sam’s instincts crying for him as well. He gets one hand around the boys head, tilting it to his throat and holding it there; and the other at the base of his spine as some kind of hold. He keeps pushing, but he’s not going anywhere.

“Get off of me!” he screams, voice taut and high in a declaration of his anguish, and he rocks against the hold quicker, swifter instead of using force. Works just as well, in that it doesn’t. But Sam needs him. He needs his Gamma sated, and this is the only way. “Please, don’t do this, Sam, please don’t touch me!”

Sam slips his eyes closed happily at the sound of his own name; the first time he’s heard it in four years finally erupting from this nineteen year-old’s mouth, screaming though it is, it still counts. He hugs Castiel closer.

“Hush, pup, hush, I won’t hurt you, I won’t touch you like that, sweetheart, I promise you, hush, sshhh,” Sam soothes rhythmically, only aiming his Gamma up the stairs once he’s calmed some, once the thrashes aren’t quite so violent—he’s still panting and wailing though. Sam personally doesn’t care who hears (they all know and agree with the plan anyway) but he thought he’d save the Gamma some embarrassment; not that he has anything to be embarrassed for, but Sam wants to alleviate the stress as much as he can. Everyone’s in the kitchen now, anyway.

He tucks Castiel into his sheets (freshly pulled out) and sits beside him on the bed, ensuring he doesn’t gain his daring escape, though apparently he doesn’t need to. Castiel lies there with gigantic blue eyes and pants his sower and mistrust. He stares up at Sam and that’s it. The bed’s practically vibrating with the force of his entire body trembling, and Sam reaches out (slowly) to organise the sheets by his boy’s head, tucking up them to his shoulders. Castiel’s throat offers a taut mewl, he flinches, but otherwise stays precisely where he is. Sam smiles for him.

“There we go, Cas, not so bad, right?” he says, taking his hands back to himself to at least offer the Gamma some semblance of privacy. But he just slithers his eyes closed, rising his chest enough that the blankets cocooning him rise with it, shifting around his body as he sucks in the deepest, most heartfelt breath Sam has ever seen. He yearns to touch again, but holds on to his instincts. He can’t scare Cas now. Not more after this.

He lays down as slowly as he’s able, inches separating him from the sheets bulged with Cas’s slim form beneath them, far enough away to be untouching but close enough to offer his scent, should Castiel choose to have it.

He sighs deeply, and turns his head to peer at the Gamma.

“Does it still hurt you?” he asks quietly.

It’s still for long moments after Sam’s inquiry. The only sound continues to be his own lighter breathes, and the deep, heavy ones belonging to Castiel, but after some time two slivers of oceanic blue pop from beneath a tanned face once he’s turned his head, and he nods slowly.

Sam nods his reply with a saddened smile. “I’m sorry to hear that, Cas. I really am.”

Cas shakes his head again, tauter this time, more controlled and harsh, and Sam can get the picture. He smiles his understanding and Cas goes back to eyes closed.

“You remember Dean?” he says suddenly. Castiel’s gaze whips to him again, and Sam keeps on smiling, despite the bittersweet memory for him. Cas nods gently, eyes scanning what Sam hopes is a sincere face. “He was stunning, wasn’t he? How old d’you think he’ll be now, nine, ten?” Sam chuckles beneath his breath. “I bet he’s a little demon, don’t you? Curious little thing he was.” Sam settles deeper on the bed and turns to face the Gamma, tucking a hand beneath his own head for a lever to see closer to Castiel’s own gaze, unrelenting now, rapt with attention. “You remember,” Sam starts, settling, “you remember when we all went to the beach, right?” Sam barks out a laugh. “Damn, that kid could eat ice cream, couldn’t he? John got so angry, but one look at that cherub face, and even he couldn’t hold much of a grudge.”

Cas’ ghost of a smile is worth the pain of the memories.

 

They do that every day after that. Sometimes Cas is willing—two weeks after the initial, he’s at the door before Sam can even remember, stepping back and waiting for his entry into his Alpha’s bed. Sometimes Sam has to carry him (from the pain or the reluctance, he’s unsure) but the Gamma never puts up much of a fight again. Sam’s pleased. He didn’t like his Gamma unhappy.

They talk about Dean, mostly. School, students they remember, Mary, but mostly Dean. His love of the beach and carousels and ice cream, paddling, sun cream—his weird intolerance for complaining despite Sam and John’s arguments, his time spent in Sam’s bed (they neatly avoid the subject of Sam’s maturing though, he senses Castiel’s not a fan) his temporary loss from them and then his love once found again. Well. Sam talks. Castiel smiles.

 

Seven weeks later—Cas sleeping in his bed, resting on Sam’s bare chest once comfortable enough and scenting him whenever the chance arises—Castiel offers his opinion and opens his mouth.

It’s morning. Sam’s yawning his way awake, Cas is purring off to the side and out of the blue, the Gamma simply says, “I bet Dean’s so handsome now,” and that’s that.

 

The first time Sam kisses him is the first time Cas willingly leaves the house. They’re at the park with Maggie (Gabriel’s excursion from Lucifer’s house, a bundle of just-chubby blonde-toddler joy) and Gabe’s about twenty yards away pushing her on the swings. Kid’s stare at Sam as they run past. Parent’s and mates wink when they scent him ‘unmated’, stinking on their own of rouge. Cas bristles from beneath Sam’s arm. And Sam just…tugs him up and kisses him.

Castiel freezes, which isn’t unexpected, and Sam practically leaps away from him in his own remorseful horror.

“Fuck, Cas,” he says, holding out his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…well, I _did_ mean, but I wouldn’t ever _assume_ that you’d…fuck, man, I’m sorry, okay? Just…forget it ever happened?”

Cas is wide-eyed for a moment, long tanned fingers hovering to his lips for a second as he peers up at Sam, before he nods his head and blushes the deepest red Sam’s ever witnessed, ducking his gaze again.

He sleeps with Gabriel that night. For the first time in months.

 

The second time they kiss, Castiel’s playing with a shifted Maggie (Cas still hasn’t since ‘the incident’ and Sam hasn’t brought it up) and Sam’s outside with Bobby fixing up the Impala for a while—Mag’s ends up kicking the ball over to them, Cas runs to fetch it, Sam holds it out for him, and Cas presses softened lips onto his. They both blush this time, but it’s Cas who practically runs away.

He still comes back that night, though. So Sam’s not too bothered.

 

They lose count of kisses, really, once the first few are out of the way. Kissing oddly turns to snogging, snogging turns to making out with Cas straddling Sam, and making out turns to one-sided hand jobs because Castiel doesn’t like being touched. Sam fingers him, though, once he’s allowed. Cas doesn’t come, but he says he doesn’t mind.

 

The first time Sam smells it, his dick is half way down Castiel’s throat.

Both pairs of eyes in the room zip wide in surprise, and Cas pops his lips from Sam and stares up at him, transfixed. Sam grins dopily, like a child at Christmas, and timidly manoeuvres his Gamma to turn just slightly (worried that he’ll spook or run), enough for him to reach inside Cas’s ever present boxer’s and come back with two glistening, wonderfully scented fingers.

He thinks Castiel might panic. Blue eyes shift wide and unsurely between the fingers and Sam’s gaze, and he looks about ready to bolt…but his mewls loosely and bucks his hips when Sam sucks the two digits down and _moans_ around them.

His and Castiel’s relationship…it wasn’t planned. Nothing was expected, and it happened how it happened, both of them having spoken on the odd occasion and understood that. And maybe because of that…Sam never really considered them mating. They’ve never discussed a transition for Castiel, they’ve never… _considered_ it, really. Which is maybe why they’re both surprised now.

“Alpha…” Cas says testily. “We don’t have to,” he scoffs, self-deprecating like he usually does, and palms a quick hand through his hair. “We haven’t even knotted yet, you can’t mate with someone…”

Sam shushes him like he always does, with a soft few fingers to his even softer lips, and rolls his eyes at the daft little thing. “Our body’s obviously want it,” he says, dipping down to root for some more. It must feel strange, suddenly producing this slick so randomly. Must feel nice though. At least for the Gamma ( _Beta,_ they should just mate, quickly) he likes the feel of the lube when Sam uses too much. “I know I do.” He tilts his lips forward, offering them in a line against Castiel’s beautiful long neck. “Let me knot you,” he mumbles against the flesh. “Please? Love every part of you, baby, want all of you. Love you, Cas.”

Castiel squirms, long, slim fingers reaching to grip at Sam, anywhere they can fit. “You don’t want me, Sam, seriously. I’m…I’m damaged in ways you don’t deserve in a mate, you need a real one. I don’t even smell like a Gamma anymore.”

Sam almost guffaws his glee, tucking his fingers more strongly down his mates shorts. “Then smell like my Beta, angel. Fuck, my perfect Beta, I want you so bad, Cas, want you as my mate, want all of you, please.”

It doesn’t take long. Cas can’t stop clinging to him, his trembling frame light in Sam’s arms as he reveals more of himself to his Alpha than he ever has before. He whines when Sam fucks into him. He groans first in pain, then in euphoria as Sam knots him, and he laughs so perfectly when Gabriel presents them with a crude happy-mating cake, that Sam wonders if he could ever be happier.

Maybe.

Dean?


	13. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry early Christmas, peeps!  
> Yay happy chapter!

It starts snowing on one stupidly freezing Thursday evening, and Alpha full on _yelps_ when Dean charges straight out of the bed. He flicks a quick apology back at the still grumbling lump of muscle; but still barely pays his brother ( _whoa, whoa, whoa_ ) any attention. Castiel is laughing at Dean’s reaction, but again, not important.

Important thing now…it’s snowing. Like, full on, chunks of bright white totally blurring Dean’s vision and how the hell didn’t he notice this crap before? Definitely been at it for a while, the clearing outside Sam’s window to the slight gap of the forest where the pups always play is covered in the stuff, and Dean plants his nose against the chilled window, hands beside his head, and hisses when his protruding belly touches the frozen glass—but who the hell cares, right?

It’s _snowing_.

Sammy might let him go _outside_.

He might even get to _play_ in it.

Ha!

“It’s _snowing_ ,” he informs them all because, _dude_. It’s _snowing_.

Holy crap, is it. Jesus.

He hears the mattress behind him creak a little as it’s two dozy occupants shift their combined weights away from the warmth of their sheets (he’s not even sorry)—Dean could probably re-enact the soppy little glances they give each other even though he doesn’t actually see them. Always doing that when Dean does…stuff like this. But never _actually_ this because he’s never seen snow before! And holy crap, it’s _awesome_.

Dean barely starts when the hands—warm, and that’s always nice—thread themselves around his sides and link together at his stomach, pushing his tee from the onslaught of freezing-ness that is the window where he was trapped, and cocooning him in a wonderful Alpha’s warmth. Dean purrs…quietly. ‘Cause actually, let’s not get in the habit of purring, yeah? Like a cat? Sam gets weird when Dean halts it, but he doesn’t get mad, and Dean smiles smugly when that happens. He can do things, _annoying_ things, and Alpha doesn’t hit him for them. His brother. Definitely has it’s perks.

Cas manoeuvres his chin to rest at Dean’s shoulder (Dean’s growing, by the way, he’s inching closer to the Beta’s height and that’s all kinds of weird) and Sam plonks his own on his Omega’s free one, and Dean full out grins, eyeing himself in their reflection.

They look…awesome.

Yeah, Dean purrs. Whatever.

“Like the snow, beautiful?” Sam asks, and Dean frees his trapped arms from beneath his Alpha’s and loops his hands over the mammoth ones currently caressing their slowly growing pup. His pushes his belly closer and mewls.

“Yeah,” Dean breathes, watching his words fog up the glass. He rests his forehead where the dampness is and breathes out again, just revelling for a second in the complete contrast of temperatures; Sam and Cas like furnaces at his spine and side, perfect hands touching him and holding him, _reminding_ —and the sharp sting of ice pressing down against his head. He retracts with a hiss and grins again, yipping his pleasure for his mates to bear witness. He doesn’t care, right now. His head’s just a fog of awesomeness.

Which is why, he thinks, he says, “Can I go outside?”

_Four little words._

Sam hesitates and Castiel lifts his head and Dean’s stomach shrivels at the notion, the bare-faced reminder of…of _pain_ , whenever those words slipped his mouth and Alastair wasn’t in the exact right mood and then…well, Dean never remembers exactly what happens when it does. Only the aftermath: lying twitching at the foot of the stairs or screaming from the force of a knot in his dry hole, Alastair’s hands beating into his rung out flesh and burning him for staining his nice, laundered rug. He remembers how stupid that one, measly little question was and he remembers the pain it always brought him. So he breaks away now. He goes back to the bed in quick, choppy steps and he buries himself beneath the covers, ensuring his hair is in suitable disarray and the smile marring his face is as innocent as he can manage.

Only he knows his mates will feel the pound of his heart from where they’re now stood empty handed. He knows they’ll scent him out; spot the flaw of his fake little smirk like _that_.

He still does it though. To avoid the risk.

“Never mind,” he says somewhat breathlessly, sitting up again and busying his hands with wrapping his hips in the comforter. He palms his Bump as a tiny little, subtle reminder for them that he’s carrying their child, he shouldn’t…he shouldn’t be hurt now for risk of hurting their pup and he peers up at them knowingly. “Bed’s warmer, right?”

Alpha’s wearing The Sad Smile. Oh God…Dean hates that one.

Castiel’s zipping his gaze from Dean to Alpha and back again, before he adopts his own little raised-brow look (like _poor little Dean_ ) and toes first towards the bed.

Dean’s toes curl and he loses eye contact again.

Did he do something weird? Weird like…like kneeling next to Alpha that time he lost himself for a minute and panicked—or like when Bobby asked for help on the Impala (holy _shit_ , by the way, ha!) and he’d scuttled over to Sam with a ready “yes, sir!”. But Dean doesn’t do that sort of thing anymore except in rare instances when he’s… _reminded_ , but he doesn’t think he’s done it now…has he? Maybe the going outside thing, maybe he’s not expected to ask about things like that or, uh—

Sam’s closer than Dean figured when the bed dips in his weight, and he startles when a softened thumb smoothes over the still present fake-smile. Dean wipes it off instantly. He glances up again and Castiel is stood behind him, hands on Sam’s shoulder. Oh, great. An intervention.

“You doing okay there, kiddo?” Sam asks with that humour he’s taken to threading into his words, ever since Dean’s hormones starting letting him get pissy ( _dangerdangerdanger_ ) with the relentless step-ins whenever he accidentally reverts back to old ways. Like a tiny chuckle actually shields ‘em. ‘Bout as useful as Dean’s fake bravado is, really.

Dean’s getting bolshier in his pregnancy. Every now and then he snaps as he realises it, and nuzzles against his Alpha and Beta in some twisted hope that they don’t blame the _base_ Dean for them. They haven’t so far. Dean doesn’t want to risk either his life or his pup’s. Safer to pretend. Safer to remedy.

“Fine,” Dean says, offering cheer in reply and at Sam’s dip of a smile, he clicks that Dean’s matching his fakeness smile for smile. Still makes him flinch though, lose the smile and dip his gaze to the festively red sheets surrounding them. Dean doesn’t like them but he’d never say.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbles. He scoots closer and takes Dean’s entire face in one big hand, offering his wrist for Dean to scent. He inhales the woodsy scent happily and willingly. Always settles something beneath himself. Sam knows that. Dean loves him. “Know you hate it when I do that.”

“S’okay,” Dean replies, not entirely sure what for, though. Alpha likes when he does. “Sorry for, uh…that.”

What? Exactly. Dean has no idea what he did that time. He was just being careful, it wasn’t like he went all Perfect Omega on their asses, he was being _tentative_. Slow. He has a pup to protect, they could at least give him that.

Ugh. Dean’s _tired_.

Sam huffs out a chuckle again, and at least Dean knows this one’s even slightly real. Better than being just for his sake.

“Nah,” he says softly, tilting Dean’s chin so their eyes can meet. See? Dean can pay attention to rules. Sam hates when Dean looks to the floor. Dean can totally meet his eyes. He’s fine. “Don’t apologise, sweetheart. You can always ask to go outside, baby, just _go_ if you want to. Wrap up, though. You get a cold, I’m blaming your ass for it.” Dean smiles again, offering a humoured huff of his own. He’s pulled to his brother’s shoulder. “Not gonna hurt you for that, little brother. Not gonna hurt you or our pup for anything. Take care of you,” he says, his lips to Dean’s ear, “take care of all of us. Raise our pup just right, beautiful. Promise.”

Yeah. ‘kay.

Dean yips again, in gladdened surprise, mostly, when Cas returns (Dean had no idea he’d left, he feels kinda bad about that) from the closet carrying three puffer-coats and three pairs of boots. One woolly hat though, and Dean nearly growls when Sam laughs and plonks it over his head.

“Shut up, you’re the pregnant one,” he says snarkily and following the jolt of bitter surprise, Dean finds himself grinning again, standing, slipping into the coat and wrestling his way into Castiel’s grip as a petty, joke-punishment to Sammy. He even sticks his tongue out and laughs when Sam does too.

They’re quiet on their excursion down the Christmas coated stairs (ugh)—even though when they arrive there each holding their own respective pair of boots, the echo of the TV (Doctor Who, three guesses who’s in there) bounces from the double doors of the living room as they wander the main hall; they can hear the clinking of glasses from the kitchen and snorted laughter from Jo and Charlie when they skate the door of the dining room. Not entirely sure what they’re doing in there, but Dean doesn’t question it.

They gain on the French doors after a little while (marked, now, with Christmas stickers Maggie made him help with), and Sam holds Dean back a step as Cas moves to open them.

Dean mewls as Sam tucks his coat on properly—zips it to his chin, lowers to his knees and holds Dean upright as he steps into his boots, he pulls the hood over Dean’s head and tugs the hat down properly, so it covers his ears. He puts Dean’s hand in his pocket, holding his frail one in his own gargantuan, and they follow Cas onto the porch.

Cas takes Dean’s other hand and puts it in his pocket, too. They huddle close.

It’s freezing out here and really, there’s no denying that. There’s also no denying that the bitter chill, the whip of the wind is turning Dean’s torso into a tuning fork, but he decides after a little while that this is totally worth it. It’s beautiful out there, and for the billionth time in his last sixteen years, Dean resents the fact that he can’t shift. The idea that he’s unable… _halted_ from such a thing just as another excuse for his pack and Alpha to _need_ to take care of his human ass is sickening and Dean hates it. As if he needed more things to hate as an Omega, they shove ‘inability to shift and keep warm with fur’ to the list. Typical.

Alpha nuzzles against his short slip of bared throat, right beneath his chin, and Dean scents the damp forest, citrus whiff he’s awarded of his brother’s too-long hair, and squeezes Cas’s hand still perfectly wound around his own. It’s cold. It’s damp. The mush of snow is being pushed into Dean’s face and the pup’s deciding now is a good time to rest on Dean’s bladder, but…this is perfect.

And Dean purrs.

❄--Ω--❄

It’s Maggie who wakes them up on Christmas morning. Having spent the previous night _just slightly_ tipsy (unlike Sam, who is _hilarious_ when he’s drunk) on a drink called Bloody Mary—Dean only had one and he saw the tiny amount of vodka Ellen had given him in it—Dean is really not exactly eager to be getting up and going anywhere; he knows his mates most certainly aren’t. Especially just about five hours after they called it quits and actually went to bed. Three and a half after they actually got some sleep.

Either way, though, the bundle of blonde pup still zooms her way straight into the bedroom with her hands in the air and Gabriel chuckling darkly a few paces behind her; and yeah, Dean knows he’s not the only one groaning. It’s still _dark_.

Dean fucking _hates_ Christmas.

It’s Gabriel, annoyingly, who tugs him out of bed. He’s perfectly content staying exactly where he is while the rest of them go open presents and pass hugs or scents or whatever it is people do on Christmas morning, he seriously doesn’t know why he can’t just stay in bed rather than be subjected to awkward smiles at people from the corner when no-one actually wants him there anyway.

People don’t include Omega’s in Christmas, okay? Dean gets it. The hyper-religious nuns got it—used to make him perch in the corner and watch the other kids unwrap their presents as a reminder of ‘his gender’s’ faults in the bible. Alastair never really celebrated. And no matter how awesome this new pack might be, they’ll still bow to this huge custom. If nuns follow it, then Alpha’s going to. Dean can’t exactly resent them for that. Much.

So Dean’s dragged downstairs by his brother. Well. Dean clings to Sam’s bicep as they wander downstairs on Maggie’s insistence—because if Dean has to deal with this, maybe if he butters Sammy up, he’ll let Dean stick by him as he opens his own presents. Maybe he won’t pat Dean down into a beanbag in the corner and wave at him every now and then and show off his new… _watch_ , or whatever it is Cas gives him. Maybe Dean won’t be banished this year. Here’s hoping, right?

Cas kisses him twice before they even make it out of the room; after that, though, he’s off upfront with a squealing Maggie and touchy-feely Gabe. It makes Dean wonder if their Christmas’ weren’t all that awesome either. At least they get them?

He’s saving an armchair for Dean and Sam when they make it into the living room; Dean’s hands tucked beneath his Alpha’s hoodie and his face mushed against the flesh of his arm—but the room’s not packed like Dean expected, so he extracts himself just a little. Not his grip, though. He doesn’t want to give Sam any ideas.

“There you go, handsome,” Sammy says, once he’s tucked himself down into the couch and Dean’s had just about five seconds of panic as Sam let him go for a bit. He pats his hands to his jogger-covered thighs though, and Dean huffs out a timid sigh of relief. He offers his Alpha a grateful smile.

“Thanks,” he says, snuggling in. “Can I, uh…” he starts, before regretting it for a second, gaining Alpha and Cas’ helpful gaze in unison, and realising he doesn’t have much of a choice to hold off now. Again. He should really stop doing this, shouldn’t he? From now on, think, then say. Idiot. He huffs at himself before burying back against Sam’s throat, sucking in the scent there (he can recognise himself just a little, and isn’t that fucking crazy?) for a second before saying, when he can feel Sam coil as if to pull him back again, “Can I stay here? Please?”

Sam pulls him back anyway. Eyes him with the raised-brow-slack-lips look, until Dean glances down at the secretly smiling Cas just for somewhere else to put his attention. Maggie. Grinning Maggie in Gabe’s lap on the floor, that’s safe. They’re not looking at him.

“Baby boy,” Sam sighs, repositioning him until his backside is beside Sam’s on the overstuffed thing, and his legs are only just looped over his Alpha’s. He’s facing the rest of the room—the couch’s organised in a circle so there’s a huge space of Christmas bags and sacks and stuff piled in the middle—and he couldn’t be less happy about that fact. At least adjacent to Sam he could hide. Now he can’t, can he?

( _Selfish, Dean, better than the dusty corner over there isn’t it? Shut up_ )

Right. Yeah. This is better.

“Where else would you be?”

…oh. Huh?

The rest of the pack files in, after that, led by a string of bounding kids that squeal at the mounds of presents, wave at Sam in his goddamn _throne_ and plonk themselves in a neat little array in couches, armchairs, beanbags and one of them, Lisa, is on a kitchen stool. Ben’s tugging excitedly at her PJ pants.

Dean figures somewhere that there’s a system going on here that the whole pack must have gotten the hang of over the years, a tradition that Dean, once again, doesn’t fit into. The kids open their things first, including Maggie, and the whole room is filled with shouts and squeals of excitement as wrapping paper is ripped to shreds and mystery shapes are uncovered, clothes are worn on top of pyjamas and noises of different toys fill the air. Dean smiles for Maggie when she shows off her new blue dress that Cas picked out, grinning for the sake of his mate and feeling the fabric when Maggie urges him to—and he laughs for Gabriel when Maggie unveils a book called Burn After Writing that she has to fill in and stuff that actually looks pretty cool.

None of that, though, really quells the familiar feeling bubbling in his stomach. Inching up his spine and shoving itself into his head. Doesn’t stop his scent from shifting just slightly beneath the onslaught of _joy_ from everyone else, and it doesn’t stop the look he gains from Alpha which he purposely ignores. No one else notices though, even Cas where he’s sat on the floor with Mags Gabriel, so neither of them make a deal out of it. Which is cool, by him. Totally.

Still. Dean’s body flinches a little when the adults get their turn and Sam actually _puts his own presents to balance on Dean’s lap_ as he opens them. It’s not…it’s not betrayal. Dean’s expecting it, it can’t be betrayal if he knew perfectly well that this was happening. This is more like…oh, fuck, he doesn’t know, does he? It just doesn’t feel good. It makes him feel like the piece of shit he was the last sixteen years, makes him feel like the Omega’s in the bible are actually him incarnated and he deserves to be punished for them and taunted like he was, whipped in stocks like they were.

But hey. Dean smiles at the key finder and watch (huh, he was right) Cas got Sam, and the something called ‘Nookii’ erotic adult board game for Omega mated pairs Gabriel got, even laughs when Maggie asks what it is. And Dean grins at the Keep Calm I’m A Surgeon flask Maggie gives Cas and the bookrest lamp Sammy gifts him. He smiles when people wave at him. He smiles and says “I’d love to later, please,” when Ben offers to let him play with his brand new remote control helicopter, and he looks suitably creeped out at Alfie’s radio control tarantula. He does everything excepted of him, and if no-one scents him, he thinks he does it pretty darn well. He’s not fooling Alpha, but he wouldn’t do that anyway.

So, to placate them both, he ducks his head to Sammy’s neck. He breathes his alpha in and he keens when Sam rubs his pyjama donned thigh. He soothes out, and he makes himself happy again, coaxing his scent into something more calming for his Alpha to ingest on a good Christmas day, and he makes himself be in the moment. He ignores what he doesn’t have and he focuses on what he does. Compared to last year? He has nothing to complain about. Hell, this is the best present he thinks he’s ever gotten, of course it is, look where he is. He’s pregnant. He has two perfect mates who would never hurt him and he has a pretty freaking awesome pack. He doesn’t need Christmas presents to feel wanted again. He just needs…this. And this will do him.

He convinces himself so far on this that when Maggie calls his name, he’s totally reluctant to look up. The illusion ( _illusion? Dude you’re so lucky, get over yourself_ ) smells and feels like his alpha right now and he doesn’t really want the reminder. Alpha pats him on the ass, though, so he complies after a little while—blinking down at Maggie…or not. Maggie’s moved. Dean scans for her for a second, mewling quietly that he can’t just be left alone, when he spots her right in the centre of the make-do loop of Gamma’s. She waves at him for a second, and he waves back absently with the flick of a few fingers when he realises Alpha’s not the only one to offer Dean their attention. The whole damn pack is just…gawping. Smiling knowingly.

…uh…

Dean hitches closer to Sam.

“Dean,” Maggie says again, voice exasperated. Dean blinks at her and frowns timidly. He…he hasn’t done anything. What the hell? “ _Look_.”

She’s holding up the top of a sack similar to some others, only it’s packed full and definitely bigger and Dean didn’t notice it before. It’s the only one still in the centre of the room. Right. Well. Is it hers? Why does Dean need to kno—

Dean twitches in Sam’s arms.

Cas pops up at his side and runs his fingers through Dean’s hair.

Sam…Sam stands up. Manoeuvres Dean forcedly on the armchair until he’s sat down properly, right up to the back of it so his feet dangle off the end. Dean heaves them up and shrinks as much as he can as the room falls terrifyingly silent and Sam walks towards Maggie with a grin Dean can almost see through the back of his head. He nudges the pup playfully out of the way. He grabs the sack and physically _heaves_ it in his grip and carries it with an amused frown over to Dean and Cas and the armchair.

Written in bright white on the side, just above a red-faced Santa…is the word DEAN.

Dean must look like an imbecile, gawping up at Sam like he is, but right now that’s really not the point. Cas has one of Dean’s hands clutched between two of his and he keeps kissing it—Maggie has come to sit beside her uncles again and she’s peering up at them—Gabriel is grinning like a madman—Sam is raising his eyebrows like he doesn’t know what to do now—…and the whole entire pack is watching them. Watching Dean.

Well, the hell if he knows what to do.

“Uh…” he says dumbly, glancing round at them all and noting Ellen wiping a tear from her eye with the hem of her dressing gown, Jo elbowing her in the ribs when she catches Dean’s eye. Bobby winks at him. Dean blinks. Again. Glances down at the sack. Back up at Sam. “…Alpha?”

And the man laughs.

He shifts the… _thing_ until it’s resting on the edge of the armchair (Dean’s feet, in turn, curl closer to his body) and he comes up and sits in the padded arm, tugging Dean’s head until it’s nestled against his ribs.

“Your first proper Christmas, little one,” he says. His voice and scent both are laced in happiness. It makes Dean purr despite himself. “Need to make up for lost time, huh? Twelve years. Everyone chipped in.”

Dean gawps. Again. Sam’s hair borders his perfect face like no other time when he’s looking down at Dean like this, smiling soothingly, and Dean cannot get enough of this angle or his brother’s eyes.

He’s reluctant to ask the golden question—like this is all just some cruel prank and Dean will ask it and they’ll piss themselves laughing at him and the sack will just be full of _bibles_ or something…but he asks it anyway. Quietly. Timidly. “This is…this is for me?”

Cas’s huff of a laugh ruffles his hair, and he turns back to the Beta, excepting the kiss and nuzzling his cheek against the tan one offered. His hips shift. “Every single one, pup,” he replies. Dean keens for him, surprising even himself. “There’s even a few more upstairs.”

And Dean asks, “Why?”

Sam rubs a palm down his chest, ruching up his zipped hoodie. Feels fucking good though. Feels safe and enclosed and he presses his hands to the Alpha’s to invoke more force, maybe a second appendage to join the first and Dean presses his face into the forearm right before his eyes.

Then something clicks and he flushes, snapping his gaze up and looking guiltily up at the Alpha, then over at Cas.

“But I didn’t get you anything.”

And everyone laughs at that.

*

Dean doesn’t open all of them. He feels weird; wrong, somehow, like he’s showing off and he doesn’t want that. Sam helps him open a few of them when Dean struggles, peeling some sticky tape here or ripping some paper there. Dean feels seriously awkward under the scrutiny of everyone, so he fumbles sometimes, but Cas picks up the slack.

He opens one of Sam’s first—it seems fitting. First Christmas present in twelve years, it should be his brother’s.

He goes for one timidly, practically buried against Sam’s side as he reaches, still seriously disbelieving on the whole thing, and he yips like some pup when Sam quickly tells him, “Wait, not that one!”, starts trembling and tears start rolling until Sam has to pause everything for a second and get him back under control with a collective, chuckled out “Aww,” from their audience. He stands Dean up, sits down, and pulls him onto his lap. Dean buries against him and notes that he laughs sadly at Dean’s still pathetic, shaking little frame. He places a present into Dean’s hands and mutters out a quick, “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” into his hair.

Said present, once Dean apparently bucks up enough courage to actually pay it any attention, is long and flat in his grip. For one agonisingly brutal split second, Dean thinks it’s a book and his heart skips and he jolts back into Sam—but then he gets over himself and actually looks at it. Feels it better. Not a book, too thin. Much to wide and long as well, and there’s a dip from the outside in the middle.

Sam helps him open this one because his fingers don’t seem to be working properly.

It’s a picture frame, Dean deduces, with a black felt back from where it lays face down, about fifteen inches wide and twenty long. He turns it over in his hands, ever so carefully and Sammy helps him until it’s upright, and when Dean drops it, Sam catches it.

Dean…well. Dean doesn’t really know, actually.

He has a Christmas present. He has Christmas _presents_ , actually, and it’s not a tease and Alpha wasn’t tricking him. In fact… _this_ is amazing. This is perfect.

Sam startles when Dean dives on him, and he flinches when Dean’s knee drives into his thigh, but he’s laughing and hugging him back and humming for him to soothe and Dean’s _keening_. He’s sobbing silently. He’s…fuck. He’s just awesome.

There’s four little boxes nestled in the dark wood. One of them pictures a blonde lady in a long blue dress, holding the hand of a young, dark haired boy about Maggie’s age and clutching a grinning toddler in her other arm, smiling happily for the camera as her hair flicks over her face. They’re by the sea, Dean can tell, bordered by the white foam and deep blue of the ocean behind them stood on the wooden platform of a pier. They’re so _happy_.

Dean clings tighter to Sam and yips sadly for him.

The second holds four little boys on a couch, and Dean can tell they don’t know they’re being photographed. One is barely three, as far as he can tell, but the others are at least teenagers. He can spot Cas’s black hair and his giant yawn, which the real one chuckles at. He can make out Sammy grinning up at the youngest one, playing with his toes until he looks like he’s _squawking_ with glee, and Dean can spot Gabriel stretching arms above his head. A weirdly young Jo’s in the background at what looks like a dining room table. That’s…that’s Dean’s old life. That’s what he used to have, a family, a big brother.

And, fuck, he has it again.

He purrs against Sam’s collar and nuzzles beneath it. Cas sneaks a hand up his hoodie.

The third is Sam and Castiel and there’s no doubt about that. They’re stood in front of the house, this one, and they’re holding something up to the camera and grinning, arms around one another.

Dean turns to Cas and mouths his “thank you.”

The fourth is him. A… _now_ aged him. He has no idea when it was taken, and he doesn’t remember anyone actually doing said taking, but he recognises the place. And he recognises Cas’s body enveloping his from behind, those hands resting against the barely there bulge of his stomach where they rest against the oak tree just outside—Sam’s gigantic wolf body keeping them both warm in the October chill, draped over their laps. Dean’s sleeping, so that’s probably why he had no idea this existed, and Cas is smirking irritably up at the taker with eyes he only ever offers to Gabriel, so that gives Dean some idea of the photographer, and Sam looks about in the middle of a yawn or a howl, whichever one.

Dean presses a “Thank you,” against his brother’s neck and definitely plans on staying here the rest of the day.

Christ, especially with all the sniffling he can hear going on behind him, you’d think someone had _died_. He is so not turning round.

“Hey, handsome, it’s okay,” Sam soothes, palming his back and thigh. Dean wriggles against him, yipping quietly in some petty little rhythm. He says quietly, “You wanna open a few more? Then we can have lunch, yeah? Go back upstairs for a little while and you can open the rest out the way of everyone. Sound good?”

Yeah. The last bit sounds good—read: awesome—but all in all…Dean’s not entirely eager to turn back around for anything. Not for weird, wet gazes or…or another chorus of _aawwww’s_ thank you very much, he just wants Sammy and Cas and maybe Gabe and Maggie if they play their cards right and he wants their scents. Sure, the pack smells like heaven when Dean’s normal, but right now, he needs his brother. He doesn’t need the scrutiny.

“Two more, baby. Mags’s and Ben’s, huh? Then, hey, when Ellen and the others are making lunch, you, me and Cas can go open your presents from us, what d’you think?”

Ugh. Dean hates the attention and he frowns that shy displeasure up at Sam when he’s willing enough to glance his way, but by the hopeful, expectant raise to the Alpha’s eyebrows, Dean sighs and shuffles his way round. He doesn’t catch anyone’s eye. He doesn’t so much as glance at Maggie; just stares down awkwardly at his hands and nestles his back against Sam’s firm chest.

“Here y’go, Omega,” Maggie says happily, thrusting a poorly wrapped, squidgy present into Dean’s hands and looking up at him from her knees, resting her hands on his knees. He blinks down. “S’for the puppy. You should probably keep it in bed with you so it smells right when the pup comes out.”

Dean manages this one by himself, offering Maggie his small smiles as he tears the wrapping off and Cas takes it away from him.

It’s a stuffed toy.

Made of possibly the softest fabric known to man; Dean peers closer, and notices it’s…ha, it’s a _wolf_. Dark furred like Sam and about the same size as Cas said the pup will be when it arrives, but with floppy legs that make it permanently lying down, and a soft nose that pushes in when Dean touches it. It’s…actually completely awesome, once Dean thinks on it, and he leans down to Mag’s and meets her check with his own, scent marking the other until they lift off and Dean grins.

The wolf-teddy stays in his lap to start the whole scent thing as he opens Ben’s present that Lisa winks as her helping with it.

S’for the pup too.

It’s handmade, Dean can tell. A silver bucket with ‘Pregnant Omega Survival Kit’ written crazily neatly on the side, and a green ribbon keeping it all in place. Dean snoops around in it for a second, and surprises himself by laughing when he comes across the whole pack of Reese’s he finds at the bottom; there’s fluffy socks and snacks (awesome and Dean grins) and vitamins like the ones Dean takes on Cas’ watch every morning before he goes to work, and there’s maternity tee’s wrapped up tight in ribbon, tons of stuff that Dean’s gonna be exploring the second he gets the chance, and he grins for Lisa and Ben, and carries the bucket and the bear and the photo frame with him when Sam leads them all upstairs.

The frame goes to the nightstand.

The bear goes to the pillows, right in the middle where Dean sleeps.

The bucket goes to the floor, but Dean’s gaze keeps flicking to it in anticipation, and he’s pretty giddy to pick through all the random stuff. They obviously put tons of thought into it. It makes Dean smile.

Gabriel, Maggie, Jo and Ellen follow them upstairs (“Bobby can put the turkey in, jeese”), and all seven squeeze to fit on the bed around Dean’s Sack Of Presents.

Dean sits in Castiel’s lap and Sam sits almost behind him, so they don’t take up too much space. Sam still helps him unwrap if he needs it.

Gabriel gets him a vintage style record player with The Beatles and a band called Led Zeppelin records. His card says he’ll take Dean to the music store and he can pick out three more, if he wants. He also says Dean gets time on his laptop to decide which music he likes so it’s not a total waste. Dean grins at him and laughs. Cas puts the card on the nightstand.

Ellen and Jo, ironically, get him an iPod stuffed full of like, a _thousand_ songs, but Dean assures Gabriel he likes the sound of a record player, too. He crawls to Ellen’s lap after that, but she’s next to Sam and Cas, so it’s not too far. Plus, hey, Jo strokes his hair.

Cas gets him a Kindle and he has to explain that Dean can read loads of books on there, wherever he wants to, sort of like an iPod does with music. Dean…totally _doesn’t_ cry, but Cas pulls him back anyway. “We can read them together, yeah?” Dean nods.

The present Sam stopped Dean from opening downstairs is a pack of Doctor Who bookmarks, and he soothes him by saying, “Your first Christmas present in over a decade, baby. I didn’t want it to be something as dumb as a pack of bookmarks.” Only Dean tells him they’re not dumb, and Sam kisses him.

They…they say they all got him the guitar. The starter kit as well, and the ‘Plectrum Punch’ with it. So he can make his own picks when he’s bored, and Dean _doesn’t-cry_ again and Cas cuddles him for little reason other than, to Dean, feeling awesome.

This…this all must have cost tons.

“You didn’t have to…” and Dean’s about to say ‘spend so much’ but really, they didn’t have to _do_ it. “You didn’t have to do this. I mean…I was fine with—”

But Sam growls so Dean shuts up. He says thank you.

Bobby got him a starter toolbox when they meander back to the kitchen so Dean can help them make some of it (he owes them _something_ , jeese) and he says it’s so Dean doesn’t have to keep nicking his tools when Dean helps him out on the Impala. He hugs Dean, though, so he figures the man’s not serious.

 

It’s only later—lunch eaten and most people (bar the shifted pups playing out in the snow) napping, Sam and Cas bordering Dean in their bed—that they offer Dean his final gift.

It’s smaller than the others; like two boxes on top of one another when Dean feels them, and even when he struggles with the tape, Sam doesn’t help him. He glares at the Alpha, but he laughs.

It is two boxes, one only slightly smaller, but noticeably so. Black, similar in shape to the one Ben got for Lisa holding that heart pendant, and stuck by a tiny piece of tape when Dean tries to open the first one.

It takes a second, but when Dean does…okay, this time he does cry. Whatever.

It’s the pack symbol—the pentagram inside the sun, the one both Cas and Alpha have tattooed on their chests, only it’s on a silver cuff bracelet, and it’s carved into the metal. Dean keens over it and holds it out for one of them to put it on him.

Sam does.

“You belong with us, baby brother,” Sam murmurs into his ear. “You’re a Winchester. You’re part of the pack now, and no-one can take that away.”

“Love you,” Dean whines against his Alpha’s shoulder when he turns into it, rutting his body until he can straddle those thick thighs and rub his bare chest against Alpha’s tee. “Wanna stay with you and Cas and…and the pack,” he mewls again. “Wanna be here forever.”

“Promise,” Cas mutters into his hair.

“Promise, baby brother. Never let you go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also also also, thank you sooooooooo much to everyone who's taken time out to comment, read and kudos. You guys are why I write what I do so eternal thank yous to everyone!!!!!!
> 
>  ***out of the series now but no changes otherwise, fyi :D
> 
> Merry Christmas!!!!!!!!!!!!


	14. What A Way To Make A Living

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly a filler chapter, but I hope you like it anyway :)

…To be entirely fair, it’s not all surprising that Dean’s weird about Sam going in to work for the first time since he’s joined them. In fact, Sam’s been expecting it since Gabriel brought it up a few weeks previous—before Christmas and New Year’s (Dean is hilarious when he’s tipsy and depressing as hell when he’s drunk) and honestly, he’s been trying his damned hardest to put it all off; if not avoid it completely.

Working at home isn’t Dean’s issue either. The precious little thing either hangs around the kitchens with Ellen; if it’s snowing there’s no doubt he’s outside; you could always find him in the living room with Maggie and maybe the guitar (good God, it’s almost a regret) or he’s silent with the Kindle or the iPod; could be outside mucking it up with Bobby and the Impala. Maybe in Gabe’s room with his laptop and the volume up blazing. Sometimes he even crawls all timid and stunning-like into the office when Sam’s alone and busy on a phone call or emailing a ‘special-client’ and what not. And he’ll either slink into the “stupid hard couch” as he likes to call it or—if he’s feeling particularly lucky—he’ll skulk on over and kneel at Sam’s feet. Stare up at him with these gigantic emerald eyes and blink like a little doe for attention and grin suspiciously once he finally gets it. Phone calls don’t last long when the kid does that. Neither do Sam’s jeans, but it’s hardly a hardship.

So, yes. The first time Sam waves goodbye to his little dove out of the window of the Impala, all dopey and lucid from lack of sleep—Sam completely believes he leaves a part of himself on that porch beneath Ellen’s hands all waving and frowning like he’s utterly convinced his mate won’t return.

It all turns out to be a useless mission anyway, because there is no way he can get work done when he can just imagine how weird Dean’s inevitably being back at the house and why the hell haven’t they gotten him a phone yet? Kid needs one. Just so he can text Sam or call him when it feels _wrong_. That’s what he says, when things go ass-up—“I’m…fine, Sam, promise. Just feels kinda…wrong.” Poor little shit.

They look at him strangely in the meeting when his attention keeps drifting. Gabriel jabs a few too many elbows into his ribs when Gammas call for his attention and he doesn’t answer. But none of that matters, really, when Dean’s at home and he could be _completely_ freaking out for all Sam knows. No Cas to coil into because he’s at the hospital already working hard and no Alpha to mewl for when things get rough because he’s over an hour away and stinking of _Denver_. Ugh. Fuck it—this clearly isn’t working.

“Ava, will you come in here for a second, please?” Sam calls into the phone at his desk and he’s already up and packing away his briefcase when the tiny Gamma knocks on the office door. He growls her admittance.

“Yes, Mr Winchester?” she drawls mockingly once the ridiculously large wooden door is open, cocking a hip and raising an expectant brow at his quickly retreating form. No time for this, Sam thinks, shoving a few more papers and Mr Crowley’s casefile on the USB stick to zip it into his inside coat pocket. Important, sure, but nowhere near as important as his baby _pregnant_ brother back home.

“I’m heading home for the day,” he says irritably, throwing his coat over his shoulders. “Tell Gabriel I’ll contact him from there, will you?”

Ava’s eyes roll, Sam’s sure of it, but he doesn’t look at her away from his current task of locking all his drawers down. “Don’t tell me, Mr Big Bag Alpha. Omega troubles? Did he prick his finger?”

They don’t know here what Dean’s been through. They know Sam hasn’t shown his face in the building in too many months and they know he gets his work done well enough at home and they know he’s recently procured a young omega and that they’re currently pregnant. Mostly just because he apparently reeks of it. But they don’t know Dean’s past; the things he’s had to live through and deal with. They don’t know quite the extent Sam will go to in protecting his young charge—the family members he will kill. So Sam doesn’t snap his irritation at Ava’s implication, because he knows a lot of Omega’s will call for their Alpha’s if they got a pricked finger—Ava’s pack’s Balthazar included—and that Bela would in no doubt be at the man’s side and soothing his curls in her lap and coaxing him to showing her the sting on his flesh. Because a lot of Omega’s are like that. But two weeks ago Dean burnt his wrist working on the impala and Bobby didn’t even know about it. Sam didn’t until he saw it that night and Dean barely even knew it was there, so…The kid’s tough. Ava just doesn’t know that.

He glares anyway. “He didn’t _prick his finger_ , Ava, no. But I should get back to him. He’s…” Sam lifts up, runs a hand through his hair and sighs, “he’s pregnant. I shouldn’t have left him in the damn first place, he’ll think I’ve abandoned him or something. Just tell Gabriel I’m going home.”

Sam does see her roll her eyes then, but it doesn’t make any difference. He’s already moving from behind the desk.

“Line two, Mr Alpha,” she says disinterestedly. She walks back to her desk. “Trust me,” closing the door.

For God’s sake…Sam doesn’t have time for anyone on _line two_ —if they want him, they can just as easily reach him at home. In two hours when he gets there and Dean’s comfortably in his lap.

But he takes the phone up anyway and he answers the call.

“Hello?” he says, and though he doesn’t mean his voice to be so abrupt, he doesn’t exactly curb it.

“Sorry,” comes the instant, timid reply, and Sam’s blood runs cold. _Baby_ … “Shouldn’t have called you at work, m’sorry—” shuffling sounds with the static as Sam guesses the phone’s passed on to someone else—he can hear a muffled voice beyond them but it’s a strain. Then he hears Dean again, “He sounds mad…because he’s at _work_ , I guess…no, it’s nothing, I shouldn’t have…Ellen, please don’t make me, I…”

“Get back on that phone, you hear me?” and there is no way that isn’t Ellen. Part of Sam wants to smile; part of him wants to shout at her for being so blunt with Dean and not doing exactly what he’s asked.

“He doesn’t want me…”

_Fuck, Dean, yes he does._

“Don’t be so ridiculous, Dean, talk to him, he probably just didn’t know who it was.”

She’s right, Sam had no idea it was his little omega on the other end, otherwise he’d be gushing right about now; soothing him. Gentling him even if he can’t touch that flushed skin and palm his full little belly. He’s panicking, Sam can tell. He needs his mate.

“Dean…” but he’s interrupted.

“No…I’ll see him when he, uh,” a stuttered little breath, “when he gets home.” Oh God. He thinks Sam’s going to hurt him, doesn’t he? He expects Sam to punish him. Oh God.

“Dean.” Again, no one listens.

“Don’t do that, sweetheart, come on. He’s not angry with you, Dean, just talk to him.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Dean.”

“Little one, please just speak to him—”

“Oh for God’s sake— _Ellen_ ,” Sam calls finally, sighing to himself and lifting until he’s stood straight, one hand in his hair and the other gripping the phone to his ear. Finally someone must pay him some attention because silence falls across the line and the shuffling sounds again until finally Ellen’s voice echoes on with,

“No, you’re staying right here…Sam. You got a problem?” Dean whines in the background and Sam melts. “Hush, kiddo, it’s fine.”

“Put me on speaker,” Sam says instantly. He waits while she does and it takes far too long.

“Okay, you’re on loud.”

Good. _Baby, come on._ “Dean, baby, I didn’t know that was you. I’m not angry at anyone, and I’m certainly not anything but pleased to hear that you called for me. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“See? Everything’s fine.” The phone makes a muted thudding sound, like she’s patting her leg in a familiar gesture, before more shuffling echoes and Sam hazards a guess that Dean’s now in her lap.

“Hey, Sam,” comes a muffled, resigned little voice, and Sam wonders whether his face is mushed against Ellen’s shoulder or her neck. Maybe right at the crook, he seems to favour that particular spot.

“Hi, handsome,” Sam replies, grinning so it shows in his voice. Omegas can tell that kind of thing; especially his astute little Dean. “You doing okay?”

A heavy sigh sounds and Sam runs a hand over his mouth, offering a tight chuckle in reply. “Yeah. We…we thought you might be on lunch break? Ellen said it would be okay, but I’m sorry if we interrupted.”

“No, baby, you didn’t. And hey, you know what? I was just headed back, actually. If I hang up in a second and call you back on my cell, we can talk the whole time I’m in the car, yeah? Is that okay, sweetheart?”

“Oh. Have you finished for the day?” Dean asks, voice tilted with a suspicious little hope until Ellen ruins it all with,

“No he damn well hasn’t, what the hell are you coming back for? Dean’s fine here. Everything’s just fine and Cas said he’ll be back before dinner so at least Dean has one mate.”

“Ellen—”

“Hush, kiddo, it’s okay. Sam’s staying at work because that’s where he needs to be and you’re gonna go find Bobby and ask if he’d like some help working on that truck of his next door. Okay? Right, Sam?” _–talking to him like that, he doesn’t need orders, he’s not a slave anymore, fucking—_

Except Ellen also isn’t Alastair, so Dean’s safe with her. She _knows_. Probably more than Sam at this point, so everything’s fine and Dean isn’t freaking as far as Sam can tell.

Everything’s _fine_.

“It’s not a problem if I come home, I—”

“Except for that meeting, you mean?” comes Ava’s voice through the open doorway, louder than you’d expect from a five foot Gamma, but loud enough for Ellen—and therefor Dean—to have heard. Dammit.

“You’ve got a meeting?” Dean squawks.

Sam sighs into the phone and glares at the only edge of Ava’s desk he can see from where he is. “Nothing I can’t get out of.”

“No,” Dean says instantly, voice coated in that hectic quality as Sam would imagine he lifts from Ellen to get closer to the phone, “No, you can’t do that. I mean, uh…” Right. He thinks he just ordered his Alpha to do something, doesn’t he? Poor little mite, Sam’s not angry… “Sorry,” he whispers anyway. “It’s just that you don’t have to do that for my sake, if that is why you’re…doing it.” He ends lowly and Sam needs to be in the car and on the road and just that much closer to his boy for this to go anywhere good, his baby needs him.

Sam hears Ellen sigh distantly but he’s already got the phone tucked beneath his ear and his briefcase in his hand.

“Dean, baby, go wait for me in the kitchen, would you? Jo’s gonna be back soon—maybe we could go for a walk through the forest? Good boy. Go get dressed for me then,” she pauses as he scrambles up and away, pressing a loud kiss to whatever body part happens to be closest to her face before offering the phone closer to Dean so he can say to his Alpha,

“Bye Sammy. Love you.”

And Sam loses every inch of Alpha toughness he has left and practically vibrates a, “Love you too, little one. Remember you’re okay, yeah? I’m gonna be back soon and then we can go up to bed if you’d like.”

“’kay. Bye.”

“Bye, sweetheart.”

And Sam listens to him scamper away, just imagining his little socked feet on the carpet and those hands fluttering like they’ve taken to doing across his stretch of belly—his lashes resting softly against flushed cheeks when Jo presses her fingers into Dean’s scalp and pulls him to her side.

Christ, he’s almost seventeen, isn’t he? Doesn’t look it, not really. Not by Gamma standards anyway. Sam wonders if he even knows when his birthday is; whether he’s celebrated it even slightly since he was nothing but a pup. Probably not. Well, his seventeenth will be the best birthday he’ll ever celebrate, that’s for sure. Until his eighteenth when…when they’ll have their own little pup to share it all with. Dean could be pregnant with the next one…

“Sam?” and those thoughts zip straight from his head and land right back to Ellen; he clears his throat. _Not the time, Sam, seriously_. He mumbles his assent. “You know that’s not the whole story, right?”

Sam blinks. “What, Dean?”

Sam can _feel_ her rolling her eyes. “Yes, Dean. We didn’t decide to call you on a whim…the kid had a little, uh, panic.” She huffs out a sigh. “I found him behind the sink again, up in the spare room. Thing was damn near shaking—but Sammy, there’s no point leaving work, alright? He’s heard your voice now, just don’t let your stuff suffer. He’s fine.”

He’s fine, is he? If he’s fine, he wouldn’t…fuck, he hasn’t gone behind that sink in weeks and he only ever does when he’s forced into an episode as Cas calls it, if he’s not entirely sure of the rule divide between Alastair and Sam. But Sam wasn’t there, was he? Sam couldn’t hold him and scent him and gentle him like he usually would and he wasn’t there when his mate needed him. He doesn’t care, not right now. He’s coming home.

“He freaked out, didn’t he?” Sam demands, resting his forehead in his hand and perching back against the edge of his desk. “How did you get him back?”

“We got him in a bath. The kids are back at school, otherwise I might have asked Mag’s to come distract him, but the bath did the trick just fine. We used the spare room. Didn’t want him _really_ losing it in yours, you know?”

“Yeah,” Sam breathes. “I know.” Missing Sam and then being shoved straight into his scent head first…not good. Dean really must have thought he was being abandoned otherwise he wouldn’t have panicked to that extent, he wouldn’t have needed Ellen to soothe him instead. Sam needs to get home now. “Look, Ellen, answer me truthfully here, okay? Would he be better off with me there or not?”

There’s a bitter pause for a second there, but it’s all Sam needs to stand again and grab all his stuff.

Ellen sighs. “Course he’s better with his big brother, but he needs to learn that you can’t be there every second of every day, and maybe he’s gonna have to learn that the hard way. Look, Sam, I want to see him trembling and hiding out behind a damn sink about as much as you do, but he _needs_ to learn. Otherwise what’s the point?”

Sam halts for two seconds, but then shakes his head and growls loosely—hanging up for a second as he wrestles with his cell to find Ellen’s number and calls her back as he strides toward the elevator and glares at Ava to say, _meetings, rearrange._

“It’s too soon,” Sam says once he hears the line click into place. “I mean if he’s still having panic attacks every month, and freaking out if I leave the house, he clearly can’t handle it. I can’t just leave him to it; not pregnant. His hormones are everywhere anyway, he must be fucking _lost_ , right?”

“He’s been with us for five months, Sam. He hasn’t spent one day without knowing exactly where you are or Cas or at least one of us. Maybe he needs a stability that isn’t, you know, a mate.”

“He’s pregnant. It’s fucking with him.”

Sam stands alone in the elevator, but he expects the two previous occupants got out the second they smelt a bitter tinge to his already intimidating Alpha scent.

“I’m sure it is.” She sighs for the billionth time. “He’s coming back now, just…think about it, okay? Maybe he does still need you, I don’t know.”

“It’s hard for any Omega to be without their Alpha, we know that much from those freaking books before we got Dean back. It must be twice as hard for someone with Dean’s abusive background. I mean remember Cas? He couldn’t take two steps from Gabriel without freaking out, and then he barely dealt with being without me. He was a Gamma. Dean’s built for an Alpha. He needs me.”

“Yeah, Sam, I know. But you still need to work, yeah? You’ve got a law firm to run,” and for the first time, Sam chuckles.

“Yeah. I’ll keep that in mind. Listen, Ellen, I’ll be about an hour, yeah? If you’re walking, come meet me in the car, and I’ll drive you back to the house. With Dean.”

“Course with Dean. I’ll see you soon, then. Be careful.”

“Always am. See you in an hour.”

“Alright. Love you, kiddo.”

“Love you too.”

=*=Ω=*=

It’s totally Dean who spots the Impala; he’s pretty sure he’d recognise that glint _anywhere_ and considering how long he’s spent staring at it that’s really not surprising.

Though as awesome as spotting the car is…it’s what’s _inside_ that makes Dean’s heart pulse like some jackrabbit on a rollercoaster. No one else can be in there, right, Dean watched Sammy drive it away this morning, it’s obviously him. God, Dean hopes it’s him. It is, right? Must be. Please.

“Thank fuck, we can get a lift back,” Jo says from Dean’s left and that’s it, definitely, that means it’s Sammy and he’s come back for Dean, he didn’t leave him or abandon him and Ellen was right—

Dean doesn’t realise he’s running until Ellen calls his name and the word sounds so far away. Doesn’t make him stop though, obviously. ‘Cause…‘cause Sam’s _back_ and he didn’t leave him and that was always going to swarm Dean’s head no matter what Ellen told him and promised because Mast-Alastair used to do that sometimes; lock Dean up in an unscented room and just leave him for sometimes weeks at a time and Dean would be a writhing mess by the time he was allowed his Alpha again but Sam didn’t do that, he came _back!_

“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy,” Dean’s chanting, thrusting the words over and over in his head and repeating them and reminding himself that his brother, his own flesh and blood came back. He still wants Dean. He still wants him.

And he almost, almost, lets out a pathetic little sob when Sam comes into view as the car pulls up alongside the stupidly long driveway and the giant of an Alpha gets out and opens his arms wide and grins like he’s even happy to see Dean too and _fuck_ —

Nothing in this world feels better than being wrapped in the arms of his big brother. And scenting the crap out of him and drying his tears on his expensive suit jacket. His hands on Dean’s back and his hair nudging his head when Dean nuzzles against him and just everything because he wants Dean too.

“Good boy, there’s my good boy, shh,” he’s saying, and Dean’s rocking into him, clawing huge handfuls of Alpha scented jacket into his grip and sobbing to his heart’s content into his mate’s neck and just _being_ where they’re supposed to be. “Too soon, sweetheart? Yeah, I know, it’s okay, little one, it’s okay. Know you don’t want to panic and it’s never your fault. Know you hate it, and that’s alright, little guy, you’re safe with me and I’ll never leave you, I promise, I’ll never leave. Gonna be with me forever, yeah?”

Dean nods limply, his lip still trembling and his eyes still watering when Sam leans back slightly and fits a thumb beneath Dean’s chin to level his gaze with his own. He sniffs his own displeasure at the scrutiny, scowling down at Sam’s chest before he simply jolts away nuzzles back into the safety of his Alpha.

Sam doesn’t hit him. Sam’s the good guy.

“Sorry, Alpha,” he mumbles tiredly. He can’t think of anything else to say. “Sorry.”

“Sshhh, nothing to apologise for, it’s okay. Such a good boy, it’s okay.”

“Dammit,” comes another voice, and Dean turns slightly to get  better view at a slightly-panting Ellen just behind him and a bent-in-double Jo trying to catch her breath. Dean guesses he’s out of breath too, but…it didn’t seem to matter until he was in his brother’s arms. His _brother’s_. Dean snuggles closer and turns back to the chest. This is where he belongs.

“Please tell me we get a lift back to the house. We do, right? Fucking fed up of walking on two legs, I swear,” and Dean shuffles around a little when Sam offers his Gamma a faint chuckle and Dean whines lowly when his hands move to his hair and that space between his shoulder blades.

“Yeah, get in. Dean? Hey, beautiful, you okay now?” he’s pulled off again, but it’s not so bad. It’s only his face that’s losing contact with Sammy, the rest of him is still pressed close and tight and perfect. …Still. He’s giving That Look—same one he always gets when Dean freaks or talks about things Sam doesn’t want to hear or…or jumps at the dumbest of things. That’s not good. Never good.

So Dean—after a seriously hard decision—Dean pulls away with a small smile (pretty sure it’s actually a grimace) and trots back to the passenger side door where he always sits if Sam and Cas take him for a ride. He clambers on in and cuddles against Sam’s side with his legs in the Alpha’s lap once he returns to the driver’s seat. He shoves his face against Sam’s throat.

And he relaxes. And he breathes.

Because Sam hasn’t left him.

…this time.

*

The next time Dean rides in the car with Sam…they’re driving further than Dean can ever remember going with his brother. He’s never been to Denver—never heard of it before Sam said he worked there and Cas showed it to him on a map. But Dean guesses new places are good if Sam’s there with him, right? Right. Sam doesn’t let Dean get hurt if he can help it and Dean trusts him. He trusts his Alpha more than anything.

“…because I can give Gabriel time off to drop you back home to Ellen you know, it wouldn’t be a problem. If you feel like things get too much.”

Dean sighs for the billionth time and nuzzles deeper against Sam’s throat, licking slightly against the salted skin gifted to him in a very attractive charcoal grey suit. And a blue tie that Cas picked out and Dean likes because it reminds him of their Beta.

“I know,” he assures again. “But you’ll be in your office, right?” he waits for Sam’s assuring nod before ducking lower and nipping at his Alpha’s smooth chin. “And Gabe said he can, uh,” it still feels weird, like he’s just assuming Gabe will come take care of him, “can come keep me company when you’ve got the meeting, right?” Sam huffs while he nods and Dean slinks closer still, melding his hands into the opening of the jacket and pressing them against the warm, crystal white shirt. “So I’ll be fine. You know, Sam…you didn’t have to do this. I’d have been fine back home; last time was just…a one off.”

Bullshit. It was not and they both know it; both know that Dean is very likely to freak out just as bad as he did three days ago and need his Alpha naked against him to scent and Cas keeping them glued as one perfect unit. Needed him for two days after. Dean’s body doesn’t seem to like complying with his head. Keeps telling him he needs to freak, when Dean knows he wouldn’t leave him, let alone his whole pack. Dean knows he’s safe, it’s just…hard sometimes.

“I wouldn’t have brought you if I thought they’d make you feel wrong,” Dean’s wrong, like freaking-the-fuck-out _wrong_.  He knows what Sam means. “But the people on my floor are pretty used to it. As I said, Bela brings Balthazar in every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Maybe you could talk with him for a while?

Humph. Yeah, sure.

Dean’s never liked talking with other Omega’s…especially after they’d…especially after Master used them like he didn’t even exist. But it’s different now. Dean knows it wasn’t their fault.

 

Balthazar…well, he’s not how exactly how Dean might have expected him to be, put it that way.

He’s blonde, like Sam said back in the car, and he has blue eyes and he’s all the way from England, but that’s about the end of what Dean was expecting. All the Omega’s he’s ever met were…timid. Young. Broken little things. Balthazar…well, he’s not any.

“Well, would you look at that,” he says instantly, combing on over with his Alpha in tow (a terrifying woman called Bela) and pushing a quick hand through Dean’s hair to tilt his head back with, exposing his throat. Dean gulps. He doesn’t move. “Nice job, Winchester. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“He’s my brother, jackass,” Sam says and that sentence—minus the jackass—will never not be one of Dean’s all-time favourites. “Hands off.” And he slaps the other Omega’s hand away. Dean curls into him and ignores the subtle stares of this floors receptionists and assistants. No one else except the top lawyers who hide away in their offices (Sam promised), so it’s not terrible. Dean can totally deal.

Balthazar, at a guess, is in his late twenty’s. He’s looking at Dean like he’s meat, and by the smell of him, he’s father to at least two pups. Maybe more. It’s funny though, because neither of them look like they’d be parents. Maybe Bela just likes him fat from the strain because she’s barren herself. That’s sad. She’s staring.

“The boy’s terrified,” she says distantly, smirking down at him. She waltzes on over and presses her own hands against the nape of her Omega, pushing the entire length of her designer-clad body against his until he’s all but drooping to her and whining low in his throat at the ministrations. Sam tucks closer. Dean’s confused. “Let him be, cub. You obviously frighten him.”

“Hell, I think anyone would be frightened of that ugly mug,” comes a familiar voice, and Dean’s Omega perks immediately from the weird Alpha display before him as he turns and grins at the familiar Gamma striding from the clutches of the elevator. “Dean has something called taste, Bela, maybe you should try it sometime.”

Bela rolls her eyes when Dean glances at her over Gabe’s shoulder when he’s wrapped in a tight hug; but she doesn’t say anything even though she has every right to a foreign Gamma. Dean’s pleased. Gabriel’s blunt, but he doesn’t deserve Alpha wrath. Not anymore. Never, really, but never again at least.

She walks away with a quick wink from Balthazar but no one speaks.

Sam scowls at Gabriel.

“What?” he says, picking up one of Dean’s hands and playing around with his fingers until Dean’s grinning unsurely at him. “She’s a freak. He’s a dick. I was just letting the know.”

“She’s an Alpha, dumbass and also your boss. Don’t mess around with her.”

“Relax, Alpha-boy, we’ve got this whole love hate thing going on, it’s cool. But,” he says suddenly, tugging Dean harder so they delve into Sam’s office quicker, “More importantly, we have an Omega in our midst. Who should definitely come down to my lowly level and show himself off to the poor little Gamma’s who don’t have sexy little things like you lighting up their day, huh?”

Dean smiles, but they both know that’s never going to happen.

Sam sends him off with a fond shake of the head and he settles himself into the huge roller chair behind his more modern desk—bigger than the vintage wooden one he has back home. Dean could sit on the couch; curl up on the floor at his Alpha’s feet like a real good Omega.

But he doesn’t do any of that. Because Sam has an arm out to him and he’s flicking his fingers as a get moving to Dean.

And Dean spends the next three hours straddling his Alpha’s lap. Nuzzling into his neck. And getting his spine rubbed at like an overgrown cat while his brother goes about all his important work before his meeting.

Which is amazing, by the way.

And Dean feels…well, Dean feels good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fem!dom Balthazar/Bela, oh yeah!


	15. It's my birthday I can cry if I want to

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurrah! Finally, DYQOM is back, bitches.
> 
> Needs some editing once I'm not knackered, so enjoy!!!

Dean wakes up on the morning of his birthday in one seriously _foul_ mood, and Sam doesn’t think he’s ever been more ecstatic over a grouchy seventeen year old before. _Seventeen_. Jesus fuck, his baby’s growing up, huh?

“I _really_ don’t think I want to,” Dean mumbles (his version of pissy) after the third time of Castiel nudging him ‘awake’, crawling atop the slumbering body and blowing into his ear. They both laugh almost feverishly at their stunning, plump little prize, and Sam’s back at Dean’s throat like a junky to fucking heroin. Dean is his _drug_.

“Is that your polite way of saying _fuck off_?” Castiel asks sweetly, massaging those long, talented fingers into the muscles of Dean’s back, right along the soft curve of his spine, where the pup’s probably giving him trouble. He whines slightly, shifts, before big green eyes peer up once more beneath the halo of overgrown, sandy blond hair and he blinks up at them both and squints. Sam decides he’s probably figuring out whether nodding and saying _yes_ would warrant punishment—or whether if he apologised and cowed they’d scold him for reverting back to old ways, for not trusting them to take a joke. Sam can practically hear those cogs cranking ‘round on overtime.

He decides to take pity, smiling fondly and brushing soft strands from a flushed forehead. “Definitely,” he agrees with Cas. Dean frowns. “Unfortunately, baby, no can do. I’m off work, Cas has the day off, and we are starting January twenty-fourth on a strong note. So. Waffles. Up.”

“Uggghhh,” Dean whines. “I’m _tired_. You’re the one that kept me up all damn night, have some mercy.”

“You can sleep _tonight_ ,” Sam whines back. Warm fingers weave out from beneath the sheets and clumsily push him away. That perfect body stretches. “Come on, kiddo, you know we wouldn’t ask you if we didn’t have a decent reason.”

Dean scowls up at him, batting a hand back at Castiel’s teasing fingers. “What reason?”

“You need more than the promise of Alpha and I?” Castiel asks. His grin is utterly infectious. “How rude.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Can I,” he pauses to sit himself up ever so slowly and yawn, long arms stretching above his head, pale belly bared beneath his oversized Star Wars t shirt (online order, curtesy of Charlie), “Can I sleep downstairs?”

Castiel chuckles hotly into his throat. “You can sleep in my lap, pup.”

“ _Fine_ , then,” Dean grumbles. “But I wan’ syrup, okay? The maple and the…” another back breaking yawn, “…and the strawberry kind. And orange juice. Puppy wants orange juice, don’tcha?” he asks, and rubs a hand over the swell of stomach in question. Sam’s heart drops into his boots at the fucking _adoration_ glowing inside his brother’s tired eyes, the love and heart ache pulsing inside one small, beautiful human being. He mirrors it, eyes on Dean. When Sam chances a quick glance at his Beta, the man is looking back at him just the same, a face gleaming with _look at this fucking stunning creature, how the hell are we so damn lucky?_

Dean doesn’t notice them—if he does he doesn’t mention it—just stumbles his way from the bed and to the bathroom, pyjama pants low on slender hips. Sam watches the sliver of ass revealed when he pushes them down slightly to piss, the red spots of the odd hickey and finger bruise. Two perfect pale globes of flesh that just…hold the fucking universe, Sam swears. This isn’t fucking normal, right? To feel this devoted to another human being—and Christ, Sam goddamn loves Cas, loves everything about him, but Dean? Dean’s something else entirely. Dean’s an entire planet.

“It’s normal, Sam, don’t worry,” Cas says, long fingered hands making their way around Sam’s waist.

Sam glances up at him, knelt on the bed. “What’s normal?”

Castiel smiles that Cheshire cat grin he seems to have adopted in the more recent months, mimicking Dean in a stretch that draws Sam’s gaze to the dark arrow of hair leading south, down below the low waist of his PJ pants. When he glances back up the Beta is still smirking.

“Feeling that way towards him,” he says. Fucking damn mindreading Betas. “Like he’s literally _everything_ to you? It’s perfectly normal to feel like that towards your Omega, as long as you embrace it, unlike Alastair. Hell, he’s blood. He’s designed to reside deep within your heart, Alpha, I promise. It’s nature.”

“You’re one cryptic, romantic son-of-a-bitch, you know that?” Sam asks that little bastard, earning himself a perfectly satisfying _squeal_ of gleeful surprise when he wrestles his mate to the mattress, wrangles his head between Sam’s thighs and squeezes like they’re damn children. Castiel is lost in guffaw of laughter, hands clawing at Sam’s back and Dean emerges from the bathroom—

Sam kind of expects him to be scared of the playful exchange between mates, but the pregnant little beast…rolls his eyes.

“I thought we were having breakfast?” then he grimaces in utter disgust. “You’re not gonna spit on him again, right? ‘Cause that was really gross.”

Castiel erupts once more, losing his breath on the exhale, and Sam stares across at their boy with eyes that must rival diamonds at this point, they’re shining with some much adoration. Dean folds his arms over an extended belly and cocks an eyebrow. Sam grins at him.

“Trust me, Dean,” Cas pants, still clawing. “If even a _tiny_ loogie comes into contact with my body, I will be withholding myself from your brother for at least a month. Now, Sam. Let me up, please.”

Sam relents, after a parting head rub on already perpetually fucked hair. Climbs off his mate with a chaste kiss once they’re close enough, a whispered, “I fucking love you, angel,” into dark hair, in case their perfect Beta didn’t already know.

Castiel relents for him and smiles, tucks into the crevice of Sam’s arm and replies, “I know, Alpha. I ‘fucking love you’, too.”

“Come ‘ere, grumpy,” Sam calls jovially to his huffing Omega, pulling him into his other side and smacking a giant, loving kiss atop his sweet little head, revelling basely when the weight of his perfect two mates fold into his side simultaneously. Dean clutches a hand into the fabric of Sam sleep shirt (Gandhi, Soldier of Peace) and nuzzles closer when Castiel’s fingers join his own, thumb rubbing circles into his skin. Sam can feel the purr rumbling in his baby’s chest. Fuck.

The walk downstairs proves to be more difficult wrapped up with three than Sam maybe first imagined, but they manage to make it to the hall just in time for—

“SURPRISE!!!”

Dean instantly crowds into the space between Sam and Cas, nudging himself between them and coiling into Sam’s ribs with Castiel plastered to his back, whining low in his throat, panting, and shit, that’s not the plan.

“Hey, pup, surprise,” Sam tries lowly, letting Cas attempt at prying the boy off them both, at least enough to turn around and see the none-threat himself. Sam lifts his shoulder to in turn lift Dean’s head but the boy’s having none of it, whipping his face back into Sam’s peck and sticking there, keening into the soft fabric of the tee. Shit. “Dean, sweetheart, it’s alright. Shit, baby, I’m sorry that scared you, maybe wasn’t such a good idea, huh? Dean? Baby, no-one’s here to hurt you, it’s just the pack. You can do the pack, right?”

“Dean-o?” Gabriel calls from their gathering of silly string, party hats, party poppers and banners. He’s wearing a hat himself, tilted slightly atop his morning bedhead and wearing a sloppy grin, silly string can limp in his hand. Sam smiles for him in a sudden surge of affection. “Just us, man, you wanna witness this glory?”

Dean twitches. Releases one of Castiel’s wrists after a second or so, then the other. He’s scowling lowly by the time his face re-emerges, eyes narrowed up at Sam’s sheepish smile, before he turns slowly but steadily—pushed back to Sam’s chest—and takes in the sight before them.

The entire hall has been transformed into a birthday extravaganza; banners littering what must be every other inch of the place, bunting and games on the walls. Every member of the pack is here, in their PJ’s, wearing hats and feather boas and holding flags and party poppers. They’re still grinning, though their eager scent has been tainted with something low and unsure now as Dean takes them in.

Gabriel winks.                                             

“I don’t…” Dean sighs and turns back to Sam. “I don’t understand.”

“Surprise, sweetheart,” Sam whispers, taking his Omega’s head into his hands and offering a soft kiss on plump lips. “Happy Birthday.”

“ _Happy Birthday!_ ” comes another chorus, but Dean doesn’t even flinch this time. He’s staring at Sam with wide eyes and a lowered brow, mouth fluttering open and closed as he seems to think on what to say. Sam pushes hair from his forehead and nuzzles up against his chilly nose.

“But, I…I don’t…” Dean flusters, turning back within the confines of Sam’s grasp and taking in the room once more, glancing around them. He sinks into Sam’s grip, tugging Castiel closer by the hem of his tee. “It’s too much,” he murmurs.

Cas lines kisses up the side of his throat, scenting that perfect aroma of Omega. Pregnant Omega. “You earned every single inch, little one. Please just enjoy it.”

“But I…” he protests, a small growl leaving his pulsing throat as he nuzzles that sweet inch closer. “I haven’t done anything. Please, it’s…”

“Hey, no, no, no, no, baby, you don’t dare feel guilty for this,” Elle says like a woman in silver, floating over and taking Dean from Sam’s chest, tucking him into her own. She accommodates the bump like a champ. “Pup, you really think we’d have gone to this much effort if we didn’t want to, huh? If we didn’t know for a hundred per cent fact that you’re worth every inch of bunting around this place?”

Dean peers up at her from beside her breasts, blinking widely at the woman he finds so intimidating— _like a mom, though_ , he’d drunkenly confessed—tucked up close. He mewls softly before ducking closer and resting his head atop one, nuzzling into her shirt.

“Huh?” she insists.

Dean shrugs.

“’Xactly. Now you go join your mates and your pack in the dining room, and we’ll be out with birthday boy’s breakfast,” Dean flinches, inching closer. Ellen accommodates widely. “Good boy,” she whispers and Sam just loves her like nothing else when Dean all but withers into her grasp. “Go on then.” She pushes him towards the dining room just slightly, leaving him dazed by himself for a few seconds before Cas makes a grab for him and tucks him close, and Sam folds his arms, lifts and eyebrow and grins at his Gamma. Ellen winks and taps a fingers to her nose, the little shit. “And get this boy a party hat, huh?”

*

Dean spends breakfast in an almost permanent state of surprise.

He eats first, tucked up as close as he can get on the wooden bench to Sam—lifting his fork and actually eating the contents of the waffles (Sam coated them in both maple and strawberry syrup) once at least three other people had plates in front of them. Sam coaxes most of the meal into his mouth, past tightly sealed lips if attention was somehow drawn over to him, talking about the snow and how lucky they are that it’s a nice, thick day outside to play in, roll around in. Dean nods and smiles when Maggie mimics the motions of making a snow wolf, how everyone laughs when she nearly falls from the bench.

Dean even offers a hesitant chuckle for Gabe, stories of birthdays past—before they were Pack, so Dean doesn’t feel excluded, thank God—when Cas ate a whole cake to himself and the harrowing tale of the aftermath.

The knock comes at the front door like an air raid siren. Somehow, everyone seems to know that the news it carries isn’t something they’d like to be a part of—conversation falling sharply silent and hesitant chuckles sounding from the length of the room. Sam stands as Alpha, smiling at his pack with raised brows before dropping his napkin and clambering away from the table. He drifts fingers along Dean’s jaw as he departs, smiling at the wide eyed gaze he’s offered.

And somehow, Sam knows in his heart of hearts that opening this door…is bad. Is _wrong_. Alpha instinct has him crazy for it, almost to the point of growling when he twists the knob and pulls it open, bracing himself for the heavy gust of late January air.

Something screams inside of him when he notices the blue of the uniform. The guns in holsters, the harrowed glances he’s shot. The men in suits.

Someone lifts a badge to him but it doesn’t matter. Fuck.

“Alpha Winchester?” a woman says, decked in pantsuit and smelling like loneliness. It takes everything inside Sam’s lawyer mind to hold back the bloodthirsty growl of defence. Standing in his office, confronted about John Winchester was one thing. His own pack, trespassing on his land and stinking of _lone-wolf_ …fuck them all.

“This isn’t a good time,” he says, voice clipped. “Please leave.”

He moves to slam the door, lock them all out, but a burly man steps forward with a hand outstretched, a foot in the way of the threshold. Sam snarls at him.

“I understand turning up on pack land is an…unwise endeavour,” the woman says. How the hell would she know? “But I’m afraid this can’t wait. We are here to tell you, Mr Winchester, that the Omega currently within your possession, a Mr Dean Smith, is wanted by the Federal Institution of Omega Affairs.” Blood stops cold within Sam’s veins and pure rage sweeps through him like a flood. “It has recently come to our attention that the boy no longer resides with his last known legal guardian—Mr Alastair Grey—and has come into the custody of his brother. Some years ago now, a law was made banning him from the interaction—let alone a mating—between yourself and the boy due to charges informed of inappropriate relations with a minor. A _toddler_ ,” she spits in disgust. “As of now, Dean Winchester is to be in our care and a trial will be held within the next few months pertaining his living situation. Here are the papers, Alpha,” she says, brandishing a manila folder into his chest. “I’m sure as a lawyer you’ll find everything in order. Now. We are here to take Dean.”

“S-Sammy?”

Jesus _fuck_. This isn’t…that fucking charge was a fluke, he basically dismantled it when he inherited the children into his pack, every step he made was one hundred per cent legal, his pack, his mate, his Omega…

_You don’t buy Omegas…_

Jesus Christ, they’re going to take Dean.

Not without a fucking fight they won’t. Not when…when his baby is pregnant. When his baby is so perfect and snarky and soft and beautiful and everything Sam ever could have hoped for him to be. He fucking won’t, he won’t let them take him.

“He’s my _mate_. You can’t just drag him from his home, he’s fragile right now. He’s…he’s pregnant, for fuck’s sake, you can’t do this to him, do you know how dangerous that is, huh?”

“My, you do act fast don’t you Mr Winchester? None the less, sir, the boy belongs to us now. Retrieve him or we will.”

“Sammy!”

Oh God, baby. He’s trembling, when Sam turns around. Half the pack metres behind him, Castiel inches from his shoulder, Gabriel beside him. His cheeks are tear stained, his mouth is open in pants, eyes wide with disbelief.

“Baby boy…” Sam breathes, needed to touch, to hold the thing falling apart before him, needing him safe. Close. _Home_.

They can’t fucking take him.

“Omega, you will come with us now,” the skank says. Sam growls at her, eyes flashing teeth elongating. No sooner does she gasp in petulant shock is Sam across the room and curling himself around his Omega.

“Sweetheart, I won’t let them take you, alright?” he says in between the gulps of panic in his boy, the shivers racking his tender body. Sam squeezes him tight. “You’re mine, you understand? You’re my brother and I will always keep you safe from harm, I promise, baby. God, I promise.”

“Why do they…Sammy, A-Alpha, why do they want m-me?” he sobs, letting himself fall into Sam’s arms, drop his solid weight against Sam’s chest and heave there, bawling his eyes out and sucking in breathes like they’re running away from him. Shit. Wrongwrongwrongwrong…

“They’re not having you,” Sam growls. “You’re _mine_. Fucking mi—”

There’s a sharp prick in the back of Sam’s neck then, gasps of shock and anger, screams as the rest of the world descends into darkness around him, fingers gripping to him and cries igniting the air…

“Sammy! Sam please, Alpha! No, get, get off me, get the hell off me, please, please don’t, I—”

“Get your fucking hands away from him, don’t you fucking dare! Dean! Stay awake, little one, come on.”

“Alpha…please…”

Sam doesn’t…he can’t….he can’t get to his baby…he can’t…

He can’t even move.

And then everything’s just…black.


	16. But I'm Not The Only One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, we're back and apologizing for the tardiness of the updates. Enjoy!!

Dean wakes up spluttering, gasping, can’t breathe, _can’t breathe, he can’t—_

“Alright, omega, that’s enough now, come on,” comes a voice but it’s a stranger and Dean can’t do this right now, not without his Alpha, without something solid, he needs…

Sammy. He needs _Sammy_.

His eyes fling open into the resulting brightness as some kind of pitiful desperation, a false yellow glow that stings, and a white ceiling, and, and…nothing familiar. Nothing. It’s all strange scents and sounds and colours and nothing is right anymore; is this rejection again, was he just rejected?

“Omega.”

But Sam— _Alpha_ —he wouldn’t do that though, would he? Not…not now. Dean’s still pregnant, he’s still carrying a pup for his Alpha, a living, breathing embodiment of the man inside of himself, and Alpha can spend hours just pressing kisses onto it’s bump, stroking fingers and whispering words. Sam _wants_ the pup. At least Dean knows that. For sure. Absolutely.

…Right?

 _Yes_. Christ, if Dean can be sure of anything, it’s Sam’s love for this hand-sized thing inside of him. If the vitamins and smoothies and back rubs and foot massages are anything to go by, the man would kill for it.

So it’s not the pup.

What other reason would Sam have for wanting rid of him? Anything Dean can think of results in him losing the pup, and the Alpha _wouldn’t_ want that, so…what is it? What did Dean do?

“You’re behaving very immaturely, Dean, I hope you know that.”

_Come on, think, Dean, think._

Okay so what…what if it isn’t something Dean’s done? What if it’s an external force, ripping them apart?

Alastair…doesn’t want Dean. So he’s out.

John, his father, he’s dead, Castiel and Sam and everyone else told him so. It’s not John.

But what about…maybe Cas? Christ, Dean would never, not ever think so, but…Dean did just swoop on in and all out shove him out of Alpha’s spotlight. He just, just waltzed on into their lives and took up precedence with his scars and his nightmares and now with his pup, Alpha’s pup, _Castiel’s mate’s pup_ …what if he’s just pissed? Maybe he wants Dean gone, out of the picture, wants him _dead_ —

Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up!

Fuck, Dean feels physically nauseas even thinking of such an accusation, something so callus and dirty. Selfish fuck he is, what, doesn’t have Alpha all to himself so he’s shoving it off onto his Beta? Christ. What a bastard.

“Alright, well, if that’s how we must act.”

_Not Castiel._

Then who?

Who the hell wants him that bad?

But before he can even start another train of thought, Dean’s spluttering out another staggered breath when he’s dragged forward by one clawed hand and another open palm suddenly comes into a sharp, stinging contact with his ass, nearly fucking knocks him off the bed he’s now kneeling on—and he slaps his own hand down to his throbbing rear end, mouth agape and, and… _no_. Not again.

 _Please_.

“There. Now I have your attention,” comes the perpetrator, shaking out her hands of painted red nails and slender fingers. Dean gapes up at her face—smiling with raised brows, she’s casually pissed. She just _hit_ him. Christ. Who the hell even _is_ she?

“What…” Dean starts, but cuts himself gradually off as the rest of the stark room comes into his field of attention.

Bright whites—walls and floors and the other bed—a bunk bed—a few feet away, the sheets he’s sitting on, the chair the lady must have dragged over from beside the stained white door. The windows are ajar, but they’re lined in mesh.

The windows are _bared_. The door’s _locked_.

_Sam’s never going to find him._

Jesus fucking Christ, he needs Ellen.

“What’s going on?” Dean asks instead, voice unsteady, coarse, unsure. They drugged him, and now they’ve locked him up. What the hell do they _want?_

“Finally paying attention?” she asks, lowering one brow so the other stays perched in question. Dean offers a tentative nod, fingers still rubbing at his heated cheek. “Good. We could have had this conversation much sooner if you hadn’t decided that _ignorance_ was an appropriate behavioural choice. As it stands, I think you might even be making yourself late for dinner. Mores the pity, hmm?”

She’s…British, Dean thinks, though he’s never been great on deciphering accents. She sounds like the Queen, and Alpha would always watch her speech on Christmas with Dean still in the sitting room corner listening in, so he feels like he kinda knows.

Okay. So what does a British lady with sharp fingernails, a red smile and too-heavy eye makeup want with Dean? To…to sell him again? He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want that at all.

Not _again_.

“Well, Dean, you seem to have found yourself a spot in Colorado’s Shelter for Omega’s; the second cleanest in the whole of the US, funnily enough,” she grins, folds her hands in her lap. As though she hadn’t just informed him that he’s back in a _home_. There goes Christmas. “Now, all I know of your little situation at the moment is the strict basics, and honestly, Omega, I couldn’t find myself any less caring of it.” She smiles but it’s fake. “All I need to know, you’ve got two packs fighting tooth and nail over who gets to take you in, while every single one of my Omega’s here are struggling for even a basic _foster_ home, so. Don’t expect a great amount of sympathy from _anyone_. Alright?”

Dean nods shakenly.

“Good. I’m here to tell you the basics, give you your clothes, let you know that if you find yourself needing anything, myself and the other carers will be in the office; you’ll know it when you see it. But I’m also going to let you know that we won’t be particularly sympathetic with your slightest _whim_ , alright? Life or death situation, otherwise, I don’t want to hear it.”

God, he’s back in hell. He was so close. He had a _family_ again.

“Oh, for the lord’s sake, grow up. You’re what, twenty?”

“No, I,” Dean gulps, “I’m seventeen. T-today.”

The lady sniffs (she’s pack-less, she doesn’t understand) and averts her eyes to stare at the ceiling for a second, before shoving them back down onto him, no less terrifying. No less _blaming_. She doesn’t know what Alastair was like.

“More than old enough, then. I expect you to take care of yourself. And for God’s sake, stop sniffling, anyone would think you were _homeless_.” He’s _not crying_. At least, it’s not tears, he’s, he’s… _he wants his Alpha_.

“I don’t… _understand_ ,” Dean hisses instead, and his fingers curling roughly into the blankets beneath him, eyes squeezed shut and head tilted low, unassuming, old habit. Then again, old habit would be staying silent and docile, so Sam’s leaking into him yet.

“Jesus…” the lady says, and she’s scooting her chair forward, Dean can hear her. A chilly hand comes into contact with his own and he fucking flinches away. Not supposed to be cold. Ellen’s always warm. Always _kind_. “I’m not speaking to you while you’re still crying. Alright? Calm down and I’ll see if there’s anything I can explain, because let me tell you, this is all you’re getting of me right now. So— _Stop crying_.”

Dean nods because that’s what he does, he follows orders, even those made by rogue wolves, he nods and he _obeys_. He can be good, even in this place. He can avoid any more slaps. Or he can take them, he can do that too, if that’s what’s required of him right now. He can be good, it’s just…it’s been a while since he’s felt that sort of thing, he’s been softened but now…they don’t want him, right? So he’ll…he’ll be good. He’ll be real good.

“There we go. That’s good. Now, what do you want to know?”

Dean shakes his head clear for a scant second, before peeling his eyes back open and glancing up at the woman. “You…you said that _two_ packs…that two packs want me…what does that mean?”

Those groomed brows narrow again, and Dean’s jolting his gaze back to himself; eye contact’s no good that’s fine, that’s okay, he can—

“ _You’re_ packs,” she says intensely, leaning forward in her chair. “Winchester and…the other one, what was it…Christ, um…”

Two packs. Dean just thought she meant…he doesn’t know, but not _two packs_ , right? Winchester and no-one, he doesn’t even _know_ any other packs.

“Grey, that was it,” she smiles, she’s smiling when Dean stares blatantly back up at her, eyes wide, mouth agape. She doesn’t mean that. She’s wrong. “Alastair Grey or something, I’m sure. Right? Dean?”

“A-Alastair…wants me?”

He doesn’t. Sam said, he promised, he wouldn’t let the man anywhere near Dean ever again, that’s what he said, he promised that, they all did…two packs.

Oh, God, no.

“No.” Dean can’t breathe. “No, no, no…I don’t want to go back to him, please…” he’s scrambling now, scrambling for a grip onto the scary woman because he needs scent and warmth but it’s not right, not Ellen or Jo or Lisa with her dark hair and mischievous smile. This isn’t real. Not _real_.

“Oof,” she huffs, maintaining his weight all the same, balancing him onto her lap. “Dean—”

“He doesn’t want me,” Dean tries, offering his belly into the warm space beside her own slim one, nuzzling closer into a safe space even though she hits, she doesn’t _like_ him. “He rejected me, he _hated_ me, that whole time…he doesn’t want anything to do with me, please, _please don’t make me go back there_.”

Now he’s crying. Now he’s sobbing into the collar of her starch white shirt, like everything else, crisp and clean— _the second cleanest in all the US_ —and it’s _not right_.

He wants the green woods. The _white_ snow, but with tracks of brown and green from grass stains and mud. He wants Castiel’s blue eyes; the green and brown and hazel of Sam’s own; Gabriel’s amber ones. He wants the cream walls of their bedroom. He wants his pack.

His pack.

 _His_.

_Fuck!_

The door swings open then, blurs enter Dean’s vision where his chin is hooked over the lady’s shoulder, swimming in his wetted vision. They’re moving closer, but Dean can’t see them properly, not really. Nothing matters anyway. Go on. Drug him again.

Drug him every day for the rest of his life if he never has to go back there, never has to subject this little thing growing inside of him to those monsters that ripped into him with their weapons and their dicks. This little thing who’s growing on him because it belongs to his Alpha and Dean can give him that, can go through anything to give him something so solid, so stationary, something he wants _so bad_.

…He’d do anything. Give the pup over…go back to Alastair if that’s what it takes.

He thinks he could do that.

“He’s alright,” the lady soothes, and she’s stroking him now, she’s dragging long nails down his back and it’s making him shiver. “Let’s just take him to the office; Al? Can you grab him please?”

No. No one’s grabbing him, not ever again, no, _no_ —

“It’s alright Dean, okay? Al’s just taking you to the office and then he’s going to set you back down in my lap and you’re going to tell me why you don’t want to go back to Alastair Grey so badly, alright?”

“I’ll go,” Dean tells her, because someone should know, because he’s decided. “The pup will go back to Sammy and I’ll go to Alastair, right? Is that…is that okay?”

He’s picked up, manoeuvred into a man’s grip, tall and broad but nothing like Sammy. Nothing like his Alpha. Old Alpha. Fleeting memory. Precious. _Please_. “We’ll see, love,” she says, hand on his back still, following close as they walk. “Let’s just get you settled.”

“What happened?” asks the man beneath him, the one holding Dean to him, hands wide and long fingered but they’re not Sammy’s he wants _Sammy_.

“Sam,” Dean pants, squirming in the other rogue’s grip, clawing, dragging himself higher, to a shoulder, pinching and pulling at the man’s shirt, needs to get away, run, run back to Sammy, to his pack, Castiel, Gabriel, Ellen, Jo, Maggie, Bobby, Lisa, Ben, all of them, every single one, he needs, _needs_ — “ _Alpha!_ ”

“Shit,” the man, Al, grunts, and his hands are all over again, dragging Dean back to his chest, the stranger, the foreigner, the wrong scent, Dean needs his Alpha, needs, needs, needs, please, just…just let him go _back_. “Damn squirrely thing…would you hold still, please? Jesus.”

“Get…get off me!” Dean cries, sobbing, because this is so wrong. “Please, please, just let me…let me go home, I need him, I _need_ him, _please!_ ”

“Alright, love, that’s enough, hmm?” the lady’s back and Dean’s lowered down to her height again, sat where she is in another chair, scents are wrong, no more _whitewhitewhitewhite_ but colours and drawings and, and windows with blinds and blue skies…not right. _Wrong_. “You’ll have to settle before we move on, Omega, let’s remember that, yes? That’s enough crying for now.”

“Let me go home, please,” Dean’s leaking onto her, tears, snot, saliva, like a fucking animal. “Just let me go back to him and I’ll be good.”

“I know, love, I know you would be; but you’ll need to calm down before that can happen, alright?”

“I can’t do this by myself,” Dean tells her, because he knows that’s true. He can’t look after his own damn self, let alone adding a defenceless pup into the equation. “I need him. Need _them_.”

“Hush, Dean, come on.”

“Can’t do it, can’t, he—he’ll kill me this time. Kill me, gut me…kill his pup. My Alpha’s pup, he’ll…he’ll kill it, make me see it, kill it, please, please, I can’t, he’ll _kill_ —”

And then Dean’s head is jarred upright in all of one second, shoved up his neck until he can hear the bones creak, held steady between two cool palms—“Enough. Alright? _Enough_.”

Yes. Of course, Dean can follow rules. He can obey.

“Good. There’s a good boy.”

Dean is. Dean’s _good_.

“Let’s settle for a second, shall we? You get yourself comfortable and then we can all breathe and just have a little chat. How does that sound?”

She hits, Dean can’t forget that. So Dean will obey and he will be good because this lady…he can’t get a read on her. She’s…she’s odd. Not like Sam’s odd though. He’d never hit, never get angry enough to hurt. Smells like pack. Like home. Family. _Brother_.

Dean shifts a little because she told him to get comfortable; it’s not an armchair like the one Ellen usually sits with him in, nor Alpha’s huge roller chairs in both his office’s, but Dean still manages to move until he’s curled himself tight, right into a ball, head tucked beneath her chin. Her hands hold him steady and he stills, nuzzles and whines to offer up his position, ask if she finds it suitable. She doesn’t hit him, so…she must.

“There we go. Now, sweetheart, I need you to tell me about Alpha Grey. Can you do that?” she asks, lifting one hand from his ribs to wave, it looks like, at Al in the doorway—pointing one long nail at a pad of paper on the long desk beside her. He collects it along with a red pen, then leans back where he was in the doorjamb, one leg crossed over the other. Dean blinks up at him, glares, and rubs one of his own hands across his belly. Wards him off, with his wide shoulders and big hands and cropped blonde hair. Wrong. All wrong.

“Dean? Go on, love, it’s alright.”

“He…he lives in Nevada,” Dean offers, voice quiet and rasping. Everything’s _wrong_. “And he has thirty-two—no, no, he has thirty- _one_ wolves in his pack. He, um, he doesn’t—”

“No, babe, she means ‘why are you so shit scared of him?’” Al says shortly and Dean snaps his gaze over to him, eyes wide, heart thundering at the rogue’s words.

He shouldn’t tell people about Alastair, he’s not allowed, especially to strangers, these people he doesn’t know, can’t believe or trust or understand. _He’s not supposed to_.

So he shakes his head.

Because he can’t.

“You can tell us, love, it’s alright,” the lady says, jostling him higher on her lap. Dean’s throat lets out a startled yelp, but that’s about it. That’s his reply. He _can’t_.

“Nah, he ain’t telling us nothing, Joyce, I wouldn’t bother,” Al says, sniffing and running a finger over his nose. “Loyal sons of bitches don’t know what’s good for ‘em.”

And Al doesn’t know what the _hell_ he’s talking about.

“Christ,” Joyce hisses beneath her breath. “Well, it’s his first night. Huh? Maybe you just need to get a bit more settled.”

…No. No, Dean doesn’t need to be settled for a thing, okay? Dean…Dean needs to go home, needs to curl up with his mates and needs them to understand that he can’t settle back down and he won’t yet for a few days, before the threat’s left his system. They’d understand, though. They’d _know_. Because they’re good like that. They’re his. He’s theirs.

“So how about a little information trade, sweetie?” Joyce asks. “You ask me some questions and I’ll answer anything I’m allowed to—and next time you feel up to it, you come to me and you tell me, okay?”

…no, she said…she said he’s not supposed to go to her for anything, life or death, she said. She can’t just…just change the rules. That’s not _fair_.

“Aw, jeese, Paige, you pull that posturing crap on him? No wonder he’s so damn freaked, look at him—dammit, girl, d’you _spank_ him?” Al asks, and now Dean’s…Dean’s really confused.

“Oh, shut up, Al, like you weren’t thinking the same thing. This damn…sprite comes waltzing on in here with two packs fighting over him when we’ve got burn victims who’ve been here for _years_. Sorry if I didn’t have a great amount of sympathy.”

“Jesus,” Al sighs. Rubs a large hand over his face. “You obviously didn’t read much of his report then, did ya?”

“Obviously not,” Joyce growls.

Al turns his eyes down to Dean then, head tilted in a soft little way that almost reminds Dean of Cas, his Castiel, his mate, his…his _everything_. God, Dean…he won’t go on without them. He just…he won’t.

“Your big brother molested you when you were still learning to walk, ain’t that right, Dean-o?” Al says, and he looks…he looks fucking sympathetic. Like he’s sorry that Sam would actually…

Fuck, no.

“That’s not true,” Dean growls, fucking snarling, and now _he’s_ posturing because fuck this guy, acting like he _knows_. He doesn’t know _anything_. “Sam never touched me. _Fuck off_.”

Shit. Bad move, _bad move._

“Hey,” Joyce snaps, jerking the hands holding him steady, making his head wobble violently on his shoulders. “Enough.”

And then something in Dean just… _snaps_.

“Don’t touch me,” he snarls, lips curling back to reveal white teeth; he yanks himself out of her red-clawed grip, shoves himself into standing. “You don’t know… _you’re not my Alpha_. You’re nothing to me. Screw you. Screw _both_ of you,” Dean growls. His hands flutter over his round stomach, fingers trembling, but…Jesus Christ, he already has a pack, someone he _will willingly obey_ , and someone who doesn’t demand that of him. Who celebrates when he offers difference. These fuckers aren’t included. “I want my pack.”

Joyce is slow in standing; spares a few seconds to stare up at where he’s stood with an incredulous expression before pushing herself onto her feet to eye him from about the same height, maybe an inch or so lower. But that means nothing when her hand moves to grip at the nape of his neck. Squeezes at his spine. Lowers him to the floor, spitting and squirming.

It means fuck all when the needle is stuck in his bicep. When the world turns a pitch black.

*

When Dean reawakens he’s back in the white room, though this time there’s no yellow light. Just a dull grey, almost, shadowed in from the barred windows.

Dean doesn’t care though. In fact, he’s finding it very difficult to care about much of anything right now.

“You shouldn’t piss Joyce off, you know,” comes a voice, but Dean doesn’t bother looking over. Like he gives a shit. “I mean, she’s cool and everything, but you get on her bad side,” the new voice blows a whistle through his teeth, “ _not_ fun. So what d’you do, huh? Spit out her brownies?”

“I didn’t _obey_ ,” Dean spits. Don’t ask him why. Why he’s answering, why he’s engaging in conversation. But right now, he’s pissed, and he’s scared, and he’s lonely. He wants his _pack_. He just…he wants his family. And apparently venting frustration is a decent way to quench that. Well. Or not.

“Huh,” the boy says. He pauses for a scant second before shuffling sounds and he speaks again. “I bet you’re one of those ‘new age’ Omegas, am I right?” Dean can _hear_ him grin. “Yeah, I know your type. Bet you were raised by some hippie folks out in…in Kansas, yeah? Ones without a pack, didn’t agree with the politics of it…and I bet the second you presented they wanted to hitch you to the nearest  Alpha they could find, but you…oh no, you had different plans entirely. You don’t _obey_. God forbid you act like those pitiful saps your folks are always on about, the ones that snivel after their Alphas like they’re hiding candy in their pockets. You ran, didn’t you? Did some illegal shit, earned enough money to score some of those scent-blocker injections, and lived life as a rogue. Right? I’m so right, aren’t I?”

“…I was born in Kansas,” Dean replies, slipping his eyes back open from when he’d shut them at the mention of the state. “But that’s it.”

“Booyah!” the boy shouts, pumping a fist into the air, from what Dean bothers to see from his peripheral vision.

He’s an omega, Dean can scent him. The room stinks of it—both his own scent, but more than that—a sickly sweet concoction of more than one, even more than two, but that might simply be because this boy was allowed outside; maybe he’s just carrying the scent. Dean, on the other hand, has been drugged and carried into the office, which was what, five seconds away? Not much of an outing. This one smells like _stranger_.

“Callum,” comes a second voice, and this time Dean does glance over, if only to confirm he isn’t going mad. “Joyce said specifically not to stress him out. I don’t think you’re helping.”

The bunk bed—Dean remembers noticing it earlier—is occupied, Callum, a dark haired boy with his fist still in the air is on the bottom bunk, light skin barely illuminated in the darkening sky, but the top bunk…the second Omega’s reading, one of those torches you stick on your book pages illuminating his own pale skin where he’s leaning near the edge, fair hair and…scars. Burn scars. Creeping into his hair line, they cover one eye in mottled pinks and purples, big, round eyes that look an almost alarmingly pale shade of…green? Dean thinks. He’s…he’s actually sort of stunning, and the scars…they don’t take that away.

“What?” Callum glares at the mattress above him, poking at it with his fingers. “I’m joking. New guy knows I’m joking. Lighten up, Scotty, she ain’t here.”

The blonde boy—Scotty?—lifts one non-existent brow, before dropping his head entirely down until only the back is visible to Dean and he can apparently glare directly at Callum. “And you don’t think she’d find out if she really wanted to…How long have you been here again?”

Callum aims a decidedly pitiful kick at the mattress through the white painted bars, poking his toes through. Scotty just lifts himself back up with an eye roll and positions back, returning to his book and settling down into an abundance of pillows, bordering him on all sides.

“So, no scent-blockers, new guy,” Callum says, regaining Dean’s attention. “What is your story?”

Dean…sighs. Exaggeratedly. And it’s not as if he doesn’t want this boy knowing—although he’s not a boy, he must be at least eighteen—but…Dean’s been here for a total of, what, a couple hours? Or at least he’s spent even less than that conscious, and the notion of giving up even an inch of himself to this place, even to fellow Omega’s…well, it feels like defeat. He doesn’t want to give up. Not yet.

“Okay, okay, not up for show and tell, I get it, what-ev’s, right?” Callum says, slotting his fingers into the bars. “How ‘bout a name? Mine’s Callum. This stunning specimen is Scotty.”

“Scott,” _Scott_ echoes. “And shut up, Callum. Or maybe I’ll tell Millie exactly where her Mamma’s blanket wound up, huh?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would. Try me.”

“Do you…” No. No, Dean’s not engaging, he’s not.

“Wait, Scott…Scotty, I think he’s trying to speak…”

Prick. Fuck off then.

“Shut _up_ , Callum. Dean, what’d you wanna ask? You can. I don’t mind.” Scott’s book has been set down now, back onto the covers so it lightens his face once more, offers the soft looking scars into a glow. He’s young, younger than Dean—thirteen? His hair flicks into soft curls at his nape and temples, big, bashful eyes bordered beneath short bangs, a soft little nose…he’s, like, the perfect Omega. Small, unassuming, adorable. And the scars, they just make him more interesting, more innocent, somehow, more… _real_. Dean likes him. He’s decided.

“D’you have an Alpha?” he asks the boy, because he suddenly really wants to know.

Soft pink lips pout slightly, and he turns his gaze low, down to the linoleum flooring. Dean feels a sudden spike of guilt for bringing it up.

“Yeah,” he offers softly. “But she’s back in Japan right now; there’s this whole thing going off involving her Dad, and…it’s a, uh, a long story. But she says she’ll be back soon, you know? Only a couple more months.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Callum drawls, rolling his eyes over at Dean and making a cuckoo sign with his finger beside his temple. Dean frowns. “And my old Ma’s just _sleepin’_.”

“Why d’you have to be such a jerk, Callum?” Scott whispers, brow narrowed in at the centre. He’s huddling into himself, like he needs to keep warm, and Dean has an urge to offer that for him, stroke his hair, murmur soothing notions into his pink little ear…

…Jesus. _Why?_

“So, Dean,” Callum says, feet back in the bars. He’s like a damn _monkey_. “How long’s the bun been in the oven?”

His hand floats to said ‘bun’ momentarily, fluttering over his t-shirt—they must have changed him into it, for fuck’s sake, he did not give permission, Jesus—and he glances down at its stretch.

“My Beta says about eighteen weeks, give or take.” Maybe more. Depends if Dean caught in his heat or out of it, afterwards, when Sam was still so gentle and kind and perfect, always perfect, he was— _is_ —

“You had a Beta too? The hell happened?” Callum asks, all peeked interest and stilled limbs.

Well. He can stay disappointed because Dean isn’t in the mood. He’ll never be in the mood. So he just shrugs.

“How come you didn’t go with her?” Dean asks instead shifting back to the boy above them. He runs a pale hand through his hair and the fingers are burnt on his skin their too.

“Immigration stuff, that’s what she says,” he offers, dropping back to his pillows. He sighs. “I haven’t seen her in months. Not since Halloween…it’s an anniversary, so she came back, you know, so we could spend it together. She booked a hotel room and we went to Six Flags together.” He’s grinning and he’s adorable. “She’s cool like that.”

“I-I can’t imagine living without my Alpha…” Dean says, grimacing once more for bringing him up again.

“It’s…it’s really hard, sometimes,” Scott murmurs. “She sends clothes and stuff that smells like her every week, but…it’s nothing like the real thing, you know? She has this hair, this really long, thick hair, and…I miss her hair. And her fingers. She’s really talented on the piano.”

“Yeah?” Dean  breathes.

“Yeah, I bet that’s all she does with them,” Callum snarks.

“Shut up, Callum.”

“So what about you?” Dean asks, glaring over at him. “Where’s your Alpha?”

“My Alpha?” Callum echoes, reclining back onto his folded up arms. “He’s in prison. Twelve counts of murder in the first degree. Three counts of attempted murder. Rape. Domestic violence, harassment, prostitution. He was my cousin. Tried to kill me. You wanna see the scars?”

“No,” Dean replies instantly, snapping his eyes shut. “No, thanks.”

Fuck. So what, Callum’s cousin went crazy, killed his pack, tried to kill Callum and, what, got caught? Cold feet? Shit. Dean’s life suddenly doesn’t feel so crappy.

“Well, now you have to tell us,” Callum teases, shifting onto his side for a better view. “Come on, just the short version. Only fair, preggers, come on.”

“You really don’t have to, Dean,” Scott says in that soft voice of his, slowly going back to his book.

“I don’t,” Dean starts, rolling his eyes. He doesn’t have a damn choice, really. “I don’t mind. Uh…before I presented, my dad got rid of me to a group home—it was cause my brother had just turned out to be an Alpha and he was pissed, I guess. So…yeah, I grew up with these nuns who were pretty shitty, and then this Alpha bought me when I presented, and raised me—till a few months back my brother came and found me again and now…or I was…I _would be_ living with him. The pup’s his. And now my old Alpha wants me back and he’s saying Sam’s not allowed me because of these lies my dad told about him abusing me when I was a kid, and if he gets me back, he’s gonna kill the pup, and then he’s gonna kill me. But…whatever. I guess.”

“Well, shit,” Callum chuckles.

Yeah. Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys are confused with anything, drop by, let me know, and I'll answer as best I can :)
> 
> Also, if any of you have read my other story This Unfamiliar Road, I was wondering if you noticed a constant from this chapter to the latest of that one? Wanna know if anyone saw it...or him ;O

**Author's Note:**

> Pleeeaaase comment if you enjoyed!!
> 
> And follow me on tumblr at casematthews.tumblr.com for fic related posts or one-life-should-be-enough.tumblr.com for other shizz.


End file.
